The Things We Bury
by rahleeyah
Summary: Major Crimes is called to Captain Raydor's house in the middle of the night, and none of them will ever be the same. *Rated M for what will come later. Reviews are love.*Complete
1. Chapter 1

**Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson**

The phone wasn't ringing. No way was the phone ringing. Not now. Not at- she rolled over, glanced at the clock, and groaned- 2 o'clock in the morning. She was debating not answering the phone at all, or perhaps throwing it out the window if she could somehow muster the energy, when Fritz nudged her shoulder.

"Answer the phone, Brenda," he slurred, not even bothering to open his eyes.

She admitted to herself that her cell phone was, in fact, ringing, and she did have to answer.

"Deputy Chief Johnson," she said, not even attempting to keep the displeasure out of her voice.

"Brenda, it's Chief Pope," as if Brenda didn't immediately recognize the voice. She also recognized his tone; he was worried. "I need you to get your squad together and get down to Captain Raydor's house, now."

"Raydor?" she asked, not entirely sure she'd heard right. "What in the hell is going on?"

"It seems the Captain disturbed a burglar in her home, and she shot him. I need you down there, right away. I'll text you the address. And Brenda?"

She was already out of bed and halfway dressed. "What?"

"Be nice."

He hung up just as Brenda was about to grumble something about how it was Raydor who needed to be nice, after all _that woman_ was the one who shot a man in her own home; Brenda was just trying to sleep, having for once gone to bed at a decent hour. Brenda hadn't bothered asking why her squad was investigating instead of Raydor's; FID couldn't investigate their own boss without appearing biased. Which is not to say that Major Crimes _could_ investigate without bias, just that it looked better on paper. She sighed, turned on the coffee pot and began calling her team, starting with Flynn.

When she heard his voice on the other end of the line, she smiled. At least she wasn't the only one who'd been fast asleep this Friday night.

"Lieutenant, I need you to get your things together and meet me down at Captain Raydor's house as quickly as possible."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Brenda assumed Andy was trying to convince himself he wasn't dreaming, just as she had been moments before, so she continued, "She interrupted a burglar in her home and… Lieutenant?" she looked down at her phone in surprise. He'd hung up! She tried calling him back, but the phone rang several times before she heard his familiar, if slightly sarcastic, voicemail. She hung up in a huff, and continued calling the rest of her team.

Upon pulling up in front of Sharon Raydor's home, Brenda had one thought: Fritz would love this place. The house was large, larger than Brenda had expected, with an immaculately kept (and disturbingly green) lawn, a wide porch, and more planters, pots and hanging baskets of flowers than Brenda had ever seen in her life. The flowers were the part that surprised her the most; Brenda had a hard time reconciling her image of _that woman_, that frosty bitch, with the bright and beautiful flowers that covered nearly every available inch of space in the yard.

The next thing Brenda noticed was much less off-putting: Will Pope, in uniform, pacing in the driveway in front of the house. Brenda found a space to park between the black-and-whites and her squad's own vehicles, got out of her car, straightened her dress, and approached him with as much confidence as she could muster.

"Good morning, Chief Pope," she said, with a little smile as she watched Lieutenants Provenza and Tao, Sergeant Gabriel, Detective Sanchez and Buzz all broke from their huddle a few feet away and begin walking in her direction. "Gentlemen," she nodded. "Where's Lieutenant Flynn?" she asked, looking around. She was beginning to worry he'd had a heart attack or something equally catastrophic. He hadn't answered any of her calls.

"He's inside with Captain Raydor," Pope said, with no small amount of chagrin.

"How on earth did he get here so fast?" Brenda asked, surprised. She hadn't even told him the address!

Pope, on the other hand, had other things on his mind. "If we could all please turn our attention to the fact that Captain Raydor, the head of the Force Investigation Division, killed a man in her home tonight-"

"Killed? You didn't say killed. You said shot. She killed him?" Brenda asked, unsure of whether she should be mortified for Raydor or overjoyed at the irony. Provenza had clearly made up his mind, his smirk was dangerously close to becoming a full-fledged smile.

"Yes, she did, and I would remind you that her children were home at the time, so please, _please_, for the love of all things holy, try to remember that this is a fellow officer we're talking about here. I don't want this investigation tainted by your little… whatever it is you have going on with Raydor."

"I appreciate your confidence in my professionalism, Chief. Now, where's the body? Where are my witnesses?"

"Inside. This way." And with that Pope turned on one very shiny heel and headed off towards the house, Brenda and her team following behind. Down the sidewalk, up three brick stairs, across the wide, wooden porch, through the red-painted front door and finally there, in the hardwood-floored, yellow-walled foyer, at the foot of a sweeping flight stairs and to the left of a wide, plushly furnished living room lay the body of a man with scruffy hair and dark clothes, and several holes in his chest. The door had obviously been forced open, and Brenda had no doubt that the muscular man at her feet would have been capable of breaking down the door. Other, less savory deeds he might have been capable of flashed in her mind, but they disappeared as quickly as they came.

"Alright, any idea who he is?" she asked the coroner's assistant and forensics personnel gathered around the corpse.

"No ID, nothing in his pockets, but he was carrying this," the coroner's assistant answered, rising up off the floor and holding a handgun out to Brenda. She pulled her gloves out of her purse, tugged them and accepted the gun.

".45 caliber. Nice gun," she mused, turning it over in her hands before passing it to Lieutenant Tao. She didn't need to tell him what to do.

"I'll run it through the lab, see if maybe our guy used it in another robbery," Tao said quickly.

Brenda gave the dead man in the foyer one last look before she moved towards the rest of the house. She opened her mouth to ask where she could find Captain Raydor as she entered the living room, but before she could get the words out she discovered the Ice Queen herself, sitting on a couch surrounded by her children, and Andy Flynn kneeling in the floor in front of her, talking to Raydor in a voice too low for Brenda to hear.

There were many things in that living room that surprised Brenda Leigh Johnson, but it seemed tonight would be a night for surprises.

First there was the room itself, the walls painted the same warm shade of yellow as the hallway, pictures on every table top, paintings of bridges and mountain vistas on the walls. There were backpacks and toys and shoes scattered in the corners of the room, and the bookshelves housed crime _noir_ novels next to chapter books and containers of play-doh. It wasn't exactly the immaculate, plastic-covered chamber Brenda had pictured; it truly was a _living _room, a place the whole family laid claim to.

The family surprised Brenda, too. Raydor was sitting in the middle of the couch, her arms slung wide to accommodate her three teenage daughters, who, despite being tanner than Brenda expected, could each pass for carbon-copies of their mother. Most surprising was a little boy, barely more than a toddler, still small enough to fit on his mother's lap, his arms slung around her neck and a blue blanket clutched in his hands. Brenda hadn't realized that any of Raydor's children were that young, and she certainly hadn't expected to find _four _of them. The children were still in their pajamas, and they clung to as much of Sharon as they could reach, four sets of dark brown eyes watching their mother and the police officers milling around their home with apprehension and fear.

Raydor herself looked different; her long brown hair hung down in unruly curls, she wore sweatpants and a white tank top, no make-up, her feet bare on the carpet. She wasn't wearing her glasses, and her green eyes were watching Flynn intently.

Most of her squad dispersed throughout the house, knowing from many, many previous crime scenes exactly what their boss wanted. Provenza, on the other hand, stayed close to the Deputy Chief, searching for his partner. The reality of a dead man in Raydor's home had made him decidedly less gleeful, and he treated the house with respect, making none of his usual quips.

For her part, Brenda didn't waste time feeling uncomfortable intruding on Raydor's home; she cleared her throat to get the Captain's attention. In unison the four brunette Raydor girls, and Lieutenant Flynn on the floor, snapped their heads up and turned in her direction. The little boy continued to cling to his mother. There was no animosity on Sharon Raydor's face, just exhaustion, and something that looked remarkably like sadness. Flynn jumped to his feet and stepped away from the couch, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking almost as if he felt guilty for having been caught behaving kindly towards Raydor.

"Captain," Brenda said, trying to sound as polite and understanding as she could at 3 o'clock in the morning.

"Chief Johnson," she sighed in reply, "I suppose you'll be wanting to take my statement."

Brenda nodded and opened her mouth to ask if the Captain might prefer to tell her story in private, but Sharon Raydor beat her to the punch. Raydor slipped to her feet, and deposited her son in her oldest daughter's lap. She kissed all four of the children on their foreheads before turning to Brenda.

"Perhaps we should speak in the kitchen." Raydor didn't wait for a response before she headed off in the direction of the kitchen in back of the house.

Brenda nodded, and motioned for Flynn and Provenza, who was still hanging around, to follow her. The three of them together beat a path across the well worn carpet and into the kitchen, a wide open room with a large center island, lots of windows, and two French doors that opened out onto a patio and a spacious backyard. Brenda had to wonder where Raydor got the money for a place like this.

"Would you like some coffee?" Sharon asked, not expecting them to say yes.

"No, thank you, Captain. If you don't mind, why don't we jump right in here with your statement," Brenda answered, slightly put off by the idea of Raydor in a domestic situation. Provenza started to ask her for a cup when Flynn elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Sharon nodded, closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and began. "Earlier this evening, around 1:30 am I was sitting out there" –she pointed her finger to the chairs on the other side of the French doors- "on the patio with my daughter Emma when we heard someone attempting to come in through the front door. We came back into the kitchen, I told Emma to get down behind the island and not to move, I retrieved my weapon-"

"Wait a minute; where was your gun?" Brenda interrupted. She wasn't surprised at Raydor's statement thus far; it had been as emotionless and precise as _that woman_ always was.

Raydor pointed, "In the liquor cabinet, above the refrigerator. I can't even get to it without standing on a chair, and the children know not to touch it. Ever."

Brenda nodded, and motioned for the Captain to continue.

"So, I retrieved my weapon, and I heard the intruder break down the door. I entered the hallway, and announced myself. I told him I was an LAPD officer. I found him halfway up the stairs. I announced myself a second time, and instructed him to put down his weapon. He did not. He turned and pointed his weapon at me, and I shot him. My children sleep upstairs, Chief Johnson," she added, as if she really needed to say it out loud. There was a look in Sharon Raydor's eyes that told Brenda this woman would quite literally kill to protect her kids.

"And you have no idea who this man is? What were you and your daughter doing up so late?" Brenda had a lot more questions, like why the hell Raydor kept her gun in her liquor cabinet and where was the father of all those dark-haired children in the living room? She had never seen Raydor wear a wedding ring, and she suddenly found herself a great deal more interested in the Captain's private life than she had ever been previously.

"Emma had just come home, she'd been out with some friends. She's 19," Raydor added, when she saw the look on Brenda's face. "I was still awake, because I was waiting for her-"

"No, you were awake because you're always awake. You haven't slept more than three hours a night in a year." The four of them turned to face the intruder, and found Raydor's oldest daughter in the door way, still wearing a sparkling silver dress, her hair still up and her make-up still on. She looked like she'd stepped out of club only moments before, but her dark eyes were stormy as she watched her mother.

"You having trouble sleeping, Captain?" Brenda asked, wondering if perhaps this wasn't a random break-in. If Raydor had a case that was keeping her up at night, maybe it had something to do with the dead man in the hallway.

Raydor wasn't happy about the turn of events. "That's really none of your business, Chief," she answered frostily.

"She hasn't slept all the way through the night since dad died," Emma said, suddenly looking much older, and much sadder than she had any right to.

"Jack died?" Provenza and Brenda turned to Flynn, more than a little shocked. They were the first words he'd said since being discovered in the living room. He looked devastated at the news. "Sharon, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, as if you care, Andy!" Raydor exploded suddenly, and Brenda found herself grateful they hadn't asked for coffee. She didn't want Raydor to have any ammunition should she decide to start throwing things. "Don't think I don't know what you call me behind my back. 'The Wicked Witch', 'the Snow Queen', Jesus, Andy you were the worst of all because I trusted you the most and now you're right there with them! No, I haven't been sleeping! I find myself surrounded by people who hate me at work, I've lost my husband and I have four children to take care of on my own so excuse me if I find it difficult to tuck myself in and have pleasant dreams at night." She disappeared through the French doors and onto the patio before anyone could say another word, and Flynn tore off after her without an explanation.

Brenda was momentarily distracted by a rustling sound in the entryway of the living room, and turned to see Sharon's son, droopy-eyed and wobbly on his feet, dragging his blanket. Emma bent and scooped the child up into her arms, carrying him back to the couch without another word. Brenda looked at Provenza, who simply shrugged. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Andy Flynn**

He'd followed her out onto the patio, intent on questioning her further, demanding to know why she hadn't told him about Jack. He recognized the look in her eyes, however; she was pissed and she was spoiling for a fight. He shoved his hands in his pockets, not for the first time that night feeling as if he'd made a grave misstep, and moved out of her reach as she fumed.

She wasn't ready to speak, and he wasn't going to make her; instead he turned slowly on his heel, taking in the patio, the yard, the small changes it had undergone in the years since he had been here last. He was struck with a sudden flood of memories, thoughts of the hundreds of nights he'd spent out here, sitting with Jack and Sharon. It was right after his wife left him, right after he'd quit drinking, back when he and Sharon were partners and he'd called her Ronnie and Jack had called him a friend. He'd come over on a Friday night and Jack would hide the booze and pour him a soda while Sharon put the kids to bed. He'd sit in one of the heavy wooden chairs, smoking and talking to Jack about baseball, how the girls were doing (because this was before their son was born), they'd talk about the weather or really anything but Andy's job. And then Sharon would come down and take Jack's seat while he went up and read the girls a bedtime story and Andy would talk to Sharon about baseball, or how the girls were doing, or the weather, or really anything other than their job. Those nights saved him, kept him out of the bottle, kept him sane. Sitting with Jack and Ronnie reminded Andy that there were good people in the world, people who didn't have personal lives that resembled soap opera plot lines. That was eight years ago and times had changed.

He chanced a sideways glance at her, but she was still pissed, pacing slightly, biting on her lip in that way that told him she wanted a cigarette and he knew exactly how she felt. He pulled a toothpick out of his jacket pocket, but didn't offer her one. She was still too volatile for him to risk speaking to her just yet. He took the opportunity to mull over the events of the night so far. His displeasure at the Chief's phone call waking him up, and then his complete terror at hearing her words; _Captain Raydor's house…burglar in her home_…his stomach had dropped through the floor. He hadn't thought about how the Chief might respond, hadn't thought about the ramifications; he'd leapt into the car, turned on the light on his dashboard and driven to Sharon's house so fast he hadn't had the time to wonder at the fact that he still remembered where it was. He never once considered she might have moved. Sharon loved that house.

He remembered that night, months ago, when Dead Bobby jumped him outside the AA meeting and beat the hell out of him. He hadn't called Sharon because she was the head of FID and would be called out there anyway since he'd fired his weapon; he'd called Sharon because his face was split and bleeding, his chest felt like it had been torn in half, he wasn't entirely certain he wasn't going to die and he didn't want to without seeing her again, without having the opportunity to apologize. And she'd come, just as fast as he had come to her tonight. He remembered the look on her face, the way she'd jumped forward to catch him when he lost his balance and almost fell out of the back of the ambulance. The last words he'd heard before completely losing consciousness were hers. _He'd better wake up._ She'd said it in that tone that implied there would be hell to pay if her orders weren't obeyed, as if the EMT's required an order to save a man's life.

God, was this how she'd felt? The tightness in his chest when he imagined the worst, the desperate need to see her, the sudden disappearance of eight years of enmity, replaced by fear and guilt. Had she felt all this, and not said anything? Had she said something? She had been remarkably helpful on that case. She'd bent the rules; Sharon Raydor had bent the rules for him. She'd said "hello" to Gabriel. She'd been polite to Provenza. She had even managed to almost kind of get along with the Chief.

"Don't you dare act like you're hurt I didn't tell you." Sharon spoke without warning, her words calm, measured, and stung as hard as if she'd hit him. "Don't you dare act like you still care about Jack, or about me."

"Ronnie-"

"And don't you _dare_ call me that, Flynn, I swear to God…" her voice trailed off, too angry to keep going. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and crossed her arms so tightly across her chest Andy feared they might break.

He could sit back and wait for her to dump all her rage on him, or he could be proactive. Years of working with Sharon Raydor had taught him that the wisest course of action was usually to suck it up, and apologize, even if you weren't sure what you'd done wrong to begin with. In this particular instance, he knew _exactly_ what he'd done wrong. It had just happened so long ago now he wasn't sure there were enough words he could say to ever make it better.

"Sharon," he started, but she kept her back resolutely turned to him. "Sharon," he said again, more forcefully, "You were my friend. He was my friend. You should have said something. It's been a whole year-"

"More like two."

He looked at her sharply, as she turned to face him. He half-expected to see tears in her eyes, but then he reminded himself ruefully that this was Sharon Raydor he was talking to.

"What?"

"Emma said it's been a year, but it's closer to two." Andy wasn't sure what kind of dance they were doing here, but he was going to keep trying, and so he did.

"What's Emma even doing here? Shouldn't she be away at college?"

"She's going to UCLA," Sharon said with a sigh as she flopped into one of the chairs. There were still police officers all over the house, the Chief and the rest of the squad inside, tying up loose ends, the Raydor children planted on the couch, but for just a few moments Andy was going to pretend it was one of those Friday nights a decade ago. He opened his mouth to ask what had possessed Emma to go to school so close to home when Sharon finished the thought.

"Jack died her last semester of high school. She was thinking about going somewhere on the East Coast, but after Jack… she wanted to stay and help me with the little ones. I can't tell you how hard I tried to talk her out of it," she added, risking a pleading glance in his direction. She needed him to understand that she hadn't kept her daughter home, that she had tried as hard as she could to encourage the girl to spread her wings.

Andy nodded. "She's as stubborn as her mother, that one."

"Don't talk about her like you know her," Sharon snapped, her mood going from pensive to waspish in an instant.

Andy went quiet, sitting in another available chair. After a moment, he decided to switch tactics.

"You recognize that guy back there?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Never seen him before in my life. But…"

"But what?" He leaned forward, trying to see her face in the dim light streaming out from the house.

"There were three cars in the driveway. The lights were on. If he'd been watching the house for any amount of time, he would have seen Emma come home; she'd only been here for about twenty minutes before it happened. What kind of burglar breaks into a house full of people? Not to mention the fact he went straight for the stairs. He ignored the TV, Emma's laptop, the damn game thing Chloe made me buy, and he went straight for the stairs." She was staring directly into his eyes now, fear in her face. "He didn't stop when I announced myself. He wasn't surprised I was a cop. He came at me."

"You think this was a targeted attack? Someone coming after you?" Andy had been thinking the exact same thing all night, from the moment Sharon had first told him her story. He'd heard her statement three or four times now, but nothing about it sat right with him.

Sharon shrugged, trying to keep the suggestion at bay. "Never seen him before, no ID in his pockets. Maybe if I hadn't…" her voice trailed off again. She kept doing that. It had been a long time, but Andy had always been able to finish her sentences, to see where she was going, and eight years of name-calling and barely controlled dislike for one another couldn't change the fact that their brains worked in an almost frighteningly similar fashion.

"You absolutely did the right thing, Ronnie. I only wish you hadn't killed him so I could do it myself."

She snorted, and shot him a smile that did its best to hide her sadness. She reached out and patted his knee, and then rose. "I should go. I need to get the kids out of this house."

He took to his feet as well, shoving his hands back in his pockets. "Where will you go?" he asked, part of him disappointed at her leaving before he had the chance to apologize, part of him grateful she had chosen not to unload all of her anger on him.

"To their _abuela's_ house. Maria's got enough room for us. Although she nearly had a heart attack when I told her what happened. "

"I bet," Andy smiled, remembering Jack's grey-haired mother.

They turned and walked back into the house together, skirting the Chief and Provenza, and heading towards the living room. Sharon scooped her son out of Emma's arms, and held him close. "Everybody up," she said softly, "We're going to _abuela's._" The girls rose and made to follow her before Emma reached out and touched her mother's shoulder.

"Wait. I can't go in these clothes. I need to change," she said, plucking at the front of her short dress. Sharon nodded and headed for the stairs, making a mental list of things she needed to bring as well when she stopped short.

"I can't go upstairs, none of us can. We can't touch anything in the house until they finish the investigation."

She sounded so damn tired. That was all Andy could think, _she sounds so damn tired_.

"Why don't I go with her?" he suggested. "I can make sure she doesn't flush anything incriminating down the toilet."

Sharon shot a questioning glance at the Chief, who was standing in the kitchen surrounded by her squad.

"If we go quickly, she'll never notice," Andy told her with a grin.

"Alright, Emma, go with Lieutenant Flynn, but don't touch anything you don't have to. Just change your clothes, don't take anything out of your room, understand?"

Emma nodded, and headed off towards the stairs with Flynn directly behind her. They carefully sidestepped the markings on the floor that indicated where the man had been; the coroner had long since taken his corpse out of the house. She cast a sidelong glance at Andy as she climbed the stairs.

"So it's Lieutenant Flynn now? That's funny, I remember you being Uncle Andy."

Andy grinned sheepishly. "I wasn't sure you'd remember. That was a long time ago."

"Not so long," she answered. They topped the stairs, and she walked down the length of the hall, turning into her bedroom.

"Do you have to go in with me, or can I just change my clothes real quick?"

He shook his head. "You can just go in, I trust your healthy fear of your mother to keep you in line. If it takes more than five minutes, though, I'm going in."

She flashed him a trademark Raydor smile, charming and beautiful and utterly devoid of warmth, before she disappeared into her room, leaving Andy alone in the hall.

He took a moment to look around, at the walls that were the same color yellow as the rest of the house, though they bore more crayon marks and scuffs up here. He could see the doors that lead to Chloe and Lily's rooms, to the little boy's room. He was struck suddenly; he didn't know the boy's name. He had known Emma since she was little, had been Sharon's partner during each of her next two pregnancies, but he'd never seen that little boy before. He'd heard through various channels that Sharon "Wicked Witch" Raydor was pregnant four or five years ago, but he hadn't gone to see her. Hadn't congratulated her. Hadn't called Jack up to tell him it was about time they had a son. He'd chosen instead to resolutely ignore her and now he didn't know the little boy's name.

The door to Sharon's room was closed and it drew his attention next, igniting a war within himself as he tried to decide if he really wanted to open the door. What would it look like, now that Jack was gone? Would some of his things still be in there? Could Andy bear to be in the same place as Jack's belongings, the same room where the man had slept, and not be overwhelmed by his own guilt and self-hatred?

He never had a chance to find out, because Emma appeared at that moment, in sweat pants and a t-shirt, carrying a jacket. "Ok, I'm ready to go. You don't need to pat me down or anything, do you? Check for weapons?"

He shook his head and smiled, motioning for her to head out before him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Captain Sharon Raydor**

Ordinarily Sharon Raydor would have been grateful for the silence that fell in her black SUV as she drove her children to Maria's house that night, but not even a few moments of blissful silence could calm the torrent of thoughts swirling through her mind. She'd killed a man only hours before, but all she could think about was Andy Flynn. She didn't know whether to punch him or kiss him, and at this point she felt both scenarios were likely to end in bloodshed, one way or another. _Damn him,_ she thought petulantly, _damn him for showing up and acting like everything was fine. The way it used to be. Things are most definitely not the way they used to be._

She shook her head and admonished herself silently for spending so much time thinking about Andy Flynn. She glanced in the rearview mirror at her three youngest children. Her son in the middle, drowsing in his car seat with Chloe and Lily on either side of him, their heads leaning against the windows and their eyes closed. She smiled softly and looked at the road again.

Emma shifted in the seat next to her, staring out the window in stony silence, angry at her mother for God only knows what reason. Sharon fought the urge to sigh. Emma was a good kid, but she was as passive aggressive as they come, and Sharon knew that if she didn't just ask the girl what was bothering her, she'd have to endure the silent treatment and the cutting glances for the next few days until Emma either got over it, or dumped her anger in a stunning display like she had in the kitchen earlier. Sharon chewed on her lower lip, still feeling slightly blindsided by that particular conversation. She'd had her reasons for not telling Andy what happened to Jack, and had decided that if she ever felt it was the right time, she'd tell him herself, in a tactful way. _She hasn't slept all the way through the night since dad died._ Emma's words echoed in Sharon's head. What a way for Andy to find out!

Sharon decided then and there not to spend any more time miffed about Emma's poor timing. She cast a sidelong glance at her daughter, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"How are you doing, baby?" she asked. She genuinely wanted to know; it wasn't every day a teenage girl saw her mother shoot a man to death in the foyer.

"Fine," Emma said, still staring stubbornly out the window. "But I didn't just kill somebody. How are you?"

Sharon did sigh this time. It was going to be one of _those_ conversations. "I'm okay." She paused. Is this were she was supposed to say, _I've done it before and I'll do it again_? Perhaps that wasn't the best track to take here. "It's hard," she said finally, "but I know I did the right thing. I'm not gonna lose any sleep over it."

That was clearly the wrong choice of words.

Emma snorted. "Hard to lose something you don't have."

"Emma, for the love of God, when did you become so interested in my sleep habits?" Sharon snapped.

"Why didn't you tell Uncle Andy about dad?" Emma shot back.

_Uncle Andy._ The words stung Sharon, as hard as if Emma had slapped her. _Uncle Andy._ Andy used to play with the girls. He used to come over for barbeques. He used to be Sharon's best friend. And Sharon knew exactly why he _used_ to be all those things and was no longer, but there were some conversations she was never going to have with her nineteen year old daughter. She settled for some vague explanation instead.

"Lieutenant Flynn," she said _Lieutenant_ on purpose; if she never heard the phrase _Uncle Andy_ from any of her children ever again, it would be too soon. "Lieutenant Flynn and I had a falling out several years ago. It's in the past. He's no longer a part of my life, and he's not a part of yours. Don't worry about him."

"Funny, he seemed pretty worried about you tonight."

And there it was. Andy _had_ been worried about her. He was the first person to arrive at her house, after the uniforms. He ran into the house, calling her name. When he found her on the couch, he knelt down in front of her and took her hand, asked her if she was ok, and he meant it. She hadn't yelled at him in the kitchen because she was mad at him; she yelled because she was mad at herself. Mad that her first thought after killing that guy was how badly she wanted Andy there; mad at herself for how relieved she felt when she saw his face; mad at herself for still needing him, after all this time.

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. She didn't say another word until she pulled the car into Maria's driveway.

**Maria Ravera**

Sharon's mother-in-law was standing on the front porch, wearing blue jeans and no shoes, her long silver hair caught in a bun at the nape of her neck and a cigarette dangling between her lips. When she caught sight of Sharon's SUV, Maria stubbed the cigarette out on the ashtray beside her, and walked out to meet her family.

Emma was out of the car and halfway to Maria before Sharon had her seatbelt undone. Maria smiled and wrapped her arms around the girl, thinking not for the first time how much Emma reminded her of Sharon when she was young. Petulant, proud, beautiful; trying so very hard to keep her head up despite the constant disappointments of life. Maria looked over Emma's head and watched her daughter-in-law in the glow from the streetlights. Sharon opened the back door, and Chloe slipped out of the big black car. The door on the other side opened and Lily appeared. Both girls made their way to their _abuela_, and Maria found herself surrounded by her granddaughters. Maria had three sons; she'd never been able to pick out pretty dresses or paint the bedroom walls pink or fight about hairstyles, and a small part of her had always regretted never having a daughter. And then Sharon Raydor had danced into their lives, and twenty years later Maria was surrounded by dark-haired girls.

Sharon walked up the drive, her son half asleep in her arms, his fingers clutching his blue blanket in a vice grip. "Hey, Mama," Sharon said softly when she reached Maria. Sharon had called her _Mama_ almost from the day they met. She called her own mother Christine.

"Hey, baby," Maria said, kissing her cheek. "You've had a rough night. Let's get you inside, ok?"

Sharon smiled at her, exhaustion written all over face, as they all trouped up the sidewalk, across the low porch, and into Maria's house.

Bedtime was a quick affair; the kids all had toothbrushes and Maria had three spare bedrooms. This was the house she bought when she moved to LA thirty-five years before, and she never moved, not even when her youngest son Paul finally graduated college and moved to San Francisco. It was well-worn and battered in places, but it was Maria's house, and it had enough room for her family whenever they chose to visit. Emma took one of the spare rooms, Sharon laid her son down in another, and Chloe and Lily shared the third. Those two might as well have been twins. Maria often laughed about it; only two years apart, they did everything together. They finished each other's sentences and shared jokes no one else could understand. They were lucky, Maria figured, for Emma had no one she depended on the way Chloe and Lily depended on each other. Four years older than Chloe, Emma had only just gotten used to the idea of having one baby sister when Lily arrived. Maria had admonished Sharon and Jack, who swore they wanted to wait before having a third, but Sharon had just blushed and said, _accidents happen._

Which was exactly what Maria had said to her five years ago when Sharon showed up on her doorstep, chewing on her lip and shifting uneasily on her feet. _Emma's fourteen_, Sharon had exclaimed, _there's no way I'm pregnant. Right?_ And Maria had just laughed and said, _accidents happen, mija_.  
>Accidents. Like what happened to Jack.<p>

Maria shook her head, and decided to make a pot of coffee while she waited for Sharon to finish checking on the kids. She needed to keep busy. Her heart had very nearly stopped when she'd gotten the phone call from an eerily calm Sharon, explaining what had happened. It was unnerving, really, to think that this woman, whom Maria remembered fondly as a shy twenty-something, could be capable of such a thing. She had wondered the same thing when Jack told her he was going to join the Army; _not my sweet boy_, she'd thought. They'd both surprised her with their strength.  
>"I'd kill for a cup of coffee," Sharon said quietly from the doorway, and Maria blanched at her choice of words, but turned around with a smile.<p>

"You're in luck. It's almost done."

Sharon crossed the kitchen on quiet feet, going straight to the cabinet that housed the coffee mugs and pulled out two, both chipped in the same place. Maria had always encouraged Sharon to make herself comfortable in her home, and after all this time, she finally had.

"I have something for you," Maria said softly as she filled the mugs. They didn't bother with milk or sugar; the two women shared a fondness for strong, black coffee.

"Hmm?" Sharon made an inquisitive noise as she took a sip.

Maria reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and Sharon's face lit up.

"Just one," Sharon said quickly, "I really have quit."

Maria laughed. "I know, _mija_, but I figured today of all days you should be allowed a little break. I don't know how you've managed to hold yourself together for this long."

The pair trekked outside to Maria's back porch, settled in the cheap plastic lawn chairs, and sat in silence for a moment. Maria had learned long ago that Sharon Raydor did things in her own time, and so she waited for her daughter-in-law to volunteer the information, rather than pester her for it.

And sure enough, after a few drags on the donated smoke, Sharon began to talk. Maria listened quietly to the story, nodding in all the right places, but it was the end that interested her more than anything.

"Andy Flynn," she mused, "I remember that name. You used to be friends, yeah?"

Sharon nodded, staring moodily into her coffee mug. "We had a fight awhile back." Maria wasn't really sure why, but in that moment she remembered another time Sharon had appeared on her doorstep in the middle of the night. Eight long years ago, Maria had opened her door to find Sharon, shivering in the rain, tears running down her face. Maria immediately wrapped her arms around the woman she thought of as her daughter, while Sharon cried into her shoulder, _what have I done? What have I done? _And then Maria remembered finding out exactly what it was Sharon had done, and the pieces fell into place.

"Oh, baby," Maria sighed. "_That_ Andy Flynn?"

Sharon began to cry, and Maria let her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Assistant Chief Will Pope**

No matter how many years they spent working together, there were still some days when Will Pope was surprised by Brenda Leigh Johnson, and this was shaping up to be one of those days. She'd been polite and discrete, had avoided any form of confrontation with Raydor, though Raydor had evidently yelled at Flynn. Pope was a little disappointed to learn he missed the fireworks; he'd always had a soft spot for Sharon Raydor, and he thought it was about time she stood up to all the name-calling and snide remarks.

Most of Brenda's squad was in Sharon's neighborhood, going door-to-door looking for someone who might have seen the burglar earlier in the day. Tao was down with SID, trying to find out who the dead guy was. And Brenda and Flynn were sitting in Pope's office.

Pope leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, trying not to yawn. _I'm getting old,_ he thought to himself. He used to pull all-nighters without a second thought, and now if he didn't get his full eight hours in he was grouchy and unfocused. He shook his head, straightened in his seat, and tried to focus on what Flynn was saying.

"I think we need to consider the possibility that this wasn't some random scumbag. Captain Raydor agrees with me." Flynn said, all tense posture and barely controlled emotions. Pope figured Flynn was still miffed about Raydor's tongue-lashing. He held back a groan. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with today.

"What are you basing this on?" Pope asked. "We have no idea who this guy is, Raydor's on record saying she doesn't know who this. It was a clean shot. Fill out the OIS paperwork and let's put this behind us."

Brenda leaned forward in her seat, and Pope knew before she opened her mouth that she was going to be on Flynn's side. She had that expression on her face. The one she wore right before she told him, in the most polite way possible, that she thought he was full of crap.

"If the roles were reversed, and Raydor was investigating me, do you think she'd just fill out the paperwork and let it go?" She snorted. "She would pull every file on every suspect who so much as looked at me sideways; she'd track down my ex-husband; she'd turn over every rock until she was absolutely sure this wasn't a hit. And I think we owe it to her to do the same, to make sure that if this was a hit, no one's gonna come back and try it again!"

Pope sighed. He knew she was right; she was almost always right. She had a smart mouth and she was manipulative and despite years with the CIA and various police departments she was a little naïve, but still, she was almost always right. He just wanted to go home and take a nap. And instead he was going to spend the day fighting with FID to get Raydor's files sent over, and he had the sinking suspicion that at some point he was going to have to referee another grudge match between Raydor and Brenda. He hated that; hated feeling like a high school principal with two rival cheerleaders in his office. He had a sudden mental image of Raydor and Brenda in cheerleaders' uniforms and he tried to hold back the smile.

"So you think someone hired this guy to kill Raydor?" Pope asked. He didn't finish the question. The implied _what the hell evidence do you have_ went without saying, and Brenda answered.

"I do. The burglar had no money in his pockets, he picked a house full of people with the lights still on inside and he ignored several expensive items on the first floor to go straight upstairs. I know how that looks to me."

"Looks the same to me," Flynn said, his face hard and set like a stone. _Damn, he's moody today_, Pope thought to himself. But he was never one to waste time worrying about the feelings of the people around him. Feelings were for other people. He really didn't care.

"Fine," he said, "do what you feel you need to do, but remember that you are under the same 72-hour deadline as Captain Raydor's department. You need to get this wrapped up quickly, one way or the other. If it's a burglary, fine, you're done. If you find hard evidence suggesting otherwise, I expect the full resources of Major Crimes to be devoted to finding out who's responsible."

"Yes, sir," Brenda said, rising.

"Where are you going?" Pope asked, though part of him really didn't want to hear the answer.

"I need to speak with Captain Raydor. Her files will only tell me so much. Speaking of files, can you make sure that FID sends them up to the murder room? I'll want to start going through them as soon as I get back." She smiled at him, and Flynn rose to follow her.

"I'll see what I can do," Pope told her. As the door closed behind them, he flopped forward, banging his head on the desk in defeat. Of course she'd ask him to talk to FID; that way she didn't have to do it herself. _Conniving little…_ he thought grimly, picking up his head and reaching for the phone. _So much for a nap._

**Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson**

As Brenda walked out of Pope's office, Flynn hot on her heels, her mind was spinning, trying to determine the best way to go about questioning Raydor. She'd have to be careful; Brenda knew herself well enough to admit that if roles were reversed, and Raydor were questioning her, she'd be combative (to say the least). She expected no less from the Captain. She boarded the elevator, heading for her car, and made a mental list of things she needed to know.

It took her several moments to realize that Flynn was next to her. "Lieutenant-" she began, but he cut her off.

"I'm going with you, Chief," he said gruffly.

"I'm not sure that's the best idea, Lieutenant," she told him. "You weren't exactly a calming presence for Captain Raydor last night, and I need her to cooperate with my investigation."

"We're ok now, Chief. At least, I think we're ok." He shrugged. "Trust me, things'll go better if I'm there. And besides, do you even know where you're going?"

This was true. Brenda hadn't thought far enough ahead. She had no idea where Sharon had gone; SID was still going through the house, and the family wasn't allowed back until they were done.

"Alright, Lieutenant, you can drive. But if you piss her off, I'm taking the keys and you're walking back."

"Yes, ma'am." If it were any other day, he probably would have smiled.

Lieutenant Flynn was quiet on the drive to Maria's house. Brenda didn't know what on earth was bothering Flynn so much, and to be perfectly honest, she didn't care. She wanted this whole thing to be over. _Investigating Captain Raydor!_ She felt a headache coming on just thinking about it. Raydor was going to be insufferable, she just knew it, and on top of having to spend the next few days digging through Raydor's life, she had to deal with Flynn being all moody and… moody. _Oh, for heaven's sake._

She stared out the window, watching the houses pass by, and tried to distract herself from Flynn oozing angst in the seat next to her long enough to get her list of questions in order. Walking into Raydor's mother-in-law's house, facing all four of the fatherless Raydor children, and asking delicate personal questions like, _did you ever cheat on your husband? _No, this was not going to be a fun morning for her. _Get in and get out_, she told herself. _Get in and get the hell out._

Flynn pulled into the driveway of a sprawling house, and Brenda recognized Raydor's black SUV in the driveway. She was struck by the overgrown garden as she stepped out of the car; apparently Raydor and Maria shared a fondness for flowers, though Maria's flowerbeds were tangled and chaotic, whereas Raydor's were neat. Organized. Like the woman herself.

"Alright, Lieutenant," Brenda said as the headed up the sidewalk to the front porch, "where exactly are we?"

"The house belongs to Maria Ravera. Jack's mother." The first words he'd said since getting in the car.

"Ravera?" Brenda asked, surprised. "The Captain's husband was Hispanic?"

"Yes, ma'am. Maria and her husband Thomas both immigrated to the States when they were kids. Legally," he added, seeing the look on her face.

Brenda reached out and rang the doorbell. She tried to imagine what Raydor's husband would have looked like; up to now she'd imagined him as some snooty, self-absorbed, slimy lawyer type. Standing on this porch, looking at this house, though, Brenda realized she was going to have rethink a lot of her preconceptions about Raydor and the people in her life.

After several moments, no one had come to the door, and Brenda was beginning to feel antsy.

"Maybe no one's home?" she wondered aloud. _But Raydor's car is still here…_

"No. She's here," Flynn said. "Let's check in the back."

"The back?"

Flynn wasn't listening; he'd just marched straight back the way they'd come and around the side of the house. Brenda followed him, flabbergasted that for the second time in the last few hours Andy Flynn knew exactly where he was going, while she lagged behind. Flynn seemed to know his way around Sharon Raydor's life shocking well, and that thought made Brenda uneasy. She really didn't like surprises. She didn't like surprise parties, she didn't like asking questions without knowing the answers, and she really didn't like seeing evidence of just how much she didn't know about her squad, up close and personal.

Flynn had led her to a short flight of wooden stairs, connecting to a low porch on the back of the house. He started up the stairs without hesitation, and Brenda followed him, shaking her head.

His hunch turned out to be correct, however, because the Ice Queen herself was sitting in a lawnchair on the deck, wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing the last time Brenda had seen her, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. Brenda studied her expression, but Raydor appeared to be back to her usual unreadable self. There were no answers in the woman's face to explain her feelings regarding the sudden, unheralded appearance of Brenda and Flynn on Maria's back porch this Saturday morning.

"Good morning, Captain," Brenda said with a sugary smile.

"Chief," Raydor nodded. "Lieutenant," she added, her voice a little softer.

"So sorry to disturb you this morning, Captain," Brenda began, but before she could get her first question out, Flynn leaned against the porch railing and said, "No one answered the front door."

Brenda stared at him.

"Maria took the kids out for breakfast. She didn't have enough pancake mix for six people," Raydor answered, running a tired hand over her face.

"Sharon, have you slept at all?" Flynn asked quietly, and Brenda once again felt the niggling tug of curiosity. She hadn't heard anyone refer to the Captain as "Sharon" before; there were some days Brenda honestly forgot that Raydor's first name wasn't "Captain."

Raydor shook her head in response to Flynn's question. "I've never been big on naps, Lieutenant. At this point, it'll just be easier if I stay up. I'll sleep like a log tonight," she snorted, as if her last statement were a particularly bad joke.

"At any rate, Captain, I'd like to explain to you why we're here," Brenda broke into what was becoming an increasingly uncomfortable conversation for her. She felt herself being drawn into the tangled web of Raydor's personal life, and that was the absolute last place she wanted be.

"You're here because you have 72 hours to make sure I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know the man I killed and to prove that I shot him in good faith," Raydor said, leaning back in her flimsy plastic chair. "I have some idea what that's like," she smiled. "I suppose you'll want a list of everyone I've managed to piss off at work, but please, let me say this. People don't like me. Police officers hate me. But the officers who hate me and still have their badges have been cleared of all guilt by me and my department. And the officers who no longer have their badges, well, for the most part they're in jail, so I'm not worried about them."

"People have been known to organize hits from jail cells, Captain," Brenda pointed out.

"That's true. But you can find information on everyone who's ever overtly threatened me in my files. So I don't imagine you came to ask me about my enemies at work." Raydor fixed her green eyes on Brenda, and suddenly the Chief felt as though she were playing a massive game of chess, maneuvering the pieces, trying to keep up with an opponent who was always a step ahead.

"Well, I did want to ask if there was anyone who stood out in your mind. I get the feeling we'll be looking at a rather long list," Brenda said, trying to sound apologetic while watching Raydor like a hawk.

Raydor shook her head, took a sip of coffee. "There's really no one, Chief," she said.

_ Check._ Brenda thought. Time to switch tactics.

"And what about your personal life, Captain? Get into any disagreements with anyone lately?"

Raydor cocked her head to the side. "It may difficult for you to believe, Chief, but no. I go to work. I go home. I take my kids to church on Sunday. I don't really have that many people in my life, and the people I do have are all people I love. I don't have any personal enemies. I also don't have very many friends."

_What the hell am I supposed to say to that? _Brenda wondered. If Raydor had been her friend she would have patted her on the leg and said, _oh honey you have plenty of friends!_ But Raydor wasn't her friend, or at least Brenda didn't think she was, and she decided to behave as if that last comment had never happened.

"What about your family? Your parents, your husband. Would anyone want to hurt you because of them?"

Brenda considered the look on Raydor's face. _Check._

"My father, before he retired, was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He's one of those people who thinks that money can solve any problem, and always acts surprised when it doesn't. But I think that if someone wanted to blackmail my father, this would have been a kidnapping, rather than what you apparently think was an attempted murder." Raydor paused, and Brenda wondered if perhaps she were choosing to ignore the second part of the question. Brenda waited another moment then opened her mouth to speak, but Raydor beat her to it.

"As for my husband, well, Jack's been gone for quite some time now. Anyone who may have had a grudge against him has no doubt moved on. And I would like to add that _no one_ had a grudge against him. Jack was the sort of man everyone loves. He was sweet and he was funny and he was kind and he didn't have enemies. He was a good man. A good man."

There was a flicker of a haunted expression on Raydor's face for the briefest of moments, and then it was gone. Out of the corner of her eye, Brenda could see the same expression on Andy Flynn's face, and she fought the urge to stomp her foot. _Oh! For heaven's sake! _She thought. _Those two!_ With all the meaningful looks and the calling each other by their first names and the fighting in the kitchen. Brenda was beginning to realize just what exactly seemed to be hanging between the two of them, and she neither understood it, nor did she want to.

"Captain-"

"I'm sorry, Chief, but I've got nothing. Perhaps your time would be better spent trying to uncover this man's identity. Looking for similar crimes. I really don't think I can help you any more."

_Checkmate. _

_ That woman!_ Brenda thought. Raydor had cut her off, and she couldn't come up with any more questions to ask. Raydor said she had nothing, but the truth was, Brenda had nothing. No ideas. No leads. Just a man she couldn't identify with a motive she couldn't fathom.

"Well, I appreciate you taking the time, Captain," she said, standing up straight and heading for the stairs. Lieutenant Flynn made to follow her when Raydor stopped him.

"Lieutenant, could I have word with you?" she asked softly.

"I'll wait for you by the car, Lieutenant," Brenda said with a big, fake smile. She walked down the stairs and around the side of the house before she stopped. She leaned up against the house's sturdy wall, and strained to hear the conversation taking place on the porch. Brenda had never had a problem with eavesdropping; the police use hidden wires to get the truth out of people all the time. She was going to do essentially the same thing with Flynn and Raydor because she was convinced there was something the Captain was keeping from her, and she hoped _that woman_ would slip and tell the truth to Flynn.

"Sharon, I-" Flynn's voice, promptly interrupted by Raydor.

"Please, Andy, let me talk." Brenda wished she could see their faces, their body language.

"I just wanted to say…" Raydor's voice trailed off. She cleared her throat and then said, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. It was my fault. I was bitter and I was pissed and I twisted it up in my head and I blamed it on you and I tried to hate you but it wasn't your fault, it was mine." The words tumbled out in a steady stream, Raydor's voice shaking ever so slightly.

"Sharon," Flynn's voice again. Brenda had never heard him sound quite like that. Not angry, not sarcastic, but hurt, somehow. Sad.

"Please," Sharon said and Brenda could have sworn it sounded like the woman was on the verge of tears. "Please don't touch me, Andy."

Brenda heard the sound of the back door opening and decided she'd rather risk missing the tail end of the conversation than risk Flynn finding her lurking by the stairs, so she went to the car, walking as quickly and quietly as she possibly could. This was evidently the right choice, as only moments after Brenda leaned up against the hood of the car Flynn appeared. He was practically stomping, and his brow was furrowed. Brenda decided that perhaps the best course of action would be to say nothing, and wait it out.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Two things y'all: 1) There is smut ahead! It's fairly tame, but it's smut nonetheless. 2) DON'T HATE SHARON. Remember this is only Andy's perspective.

_If I fall_

_Can you let me down easy_

_If I leave my heart _

_With you tonight_

_Will you promise that_

_You're gonna treat it right_

_I'm barely hanging on_

_So if I fall_

_Can you let me down easy_

_-Let Me Down Easy, _

**Andy Flynn**

Andy drove in stony silence, desperately trying to concentrate on the road. Sharon's words echoed in his mind, pulling him back, back to that night all those years ago, and that night was the last place he wanted to be. He tried to focus on the morning sunlight, tried to worry about how he was going to explain all this to the Chief, but his mind was awash with memories. The sound of Sharon's voice, the feel of her skin. The shape of her mouth, the look on her face. All he knew in this moment was Sharon, and the pain of losing her before she was ever his to claim.

_Eight years earlier…_

Nights like this were the hardest for Andy. Quiet nights, after a long case, when he couldn't seek refuge with Jack and Ronnie, when all he felt was the whole in his life where something else should have been. He'd lost his family to the booze, and the booze to his own good sense, and he'd lost his good sense to Ronnie. She owned him and she didn't even know it. She made him want to be more than he was. Made him struggle, just to be rewarded by her smile. Andy wondered if every man she met was destined to be enchanted by her, taken in by her grace and her beauty and her kind heart, her strength of will, only to discover that she belonged to another, a man who had somehow charmed her, won her by some means Andy couldn't fathom. It seemed cruel, that such a woman, who ought to be free, should be caged, fettered by a husband and children. He cursed the fates and his own foul temper, and settled for a soda instead of a beer. Ronnie and the alcohol, his two great vices, both destined to destroy him.

It was in the midst of this reverie that she came to him that night, with a soft knock on the door of his apartment. He opened it, both praying it was her and convincing himself that such a hope was foolish. She stood on the other side of the door, all unruly curls and pleading green eyes. As it always was with Ronnie, he took no notice of her clothes but focused on the emotions that adorned her face. She was rapturous in sadness; for a fleeting moment Andy thought that this was the expression she wore the best, for it was the one that made him most want to wrap her in his arms and kiss her hair until she smiled.

"Andy," she said, and his heart broke to hear her smoky voice so close to tears, "I didn't know where else to go."

And because she had appeared to him like a vision, the subject of his musing made flesh, and because he had yearned to feel the touch of her hand from the day he first met her, he reached out and twined his fingers with hers, gentling pulling her inside.

It was easy, after that first contact was established, for him to wrap her in his arms, and she went with him without hesitation. She fit him as if they were made for one another, her hands between them, covering her face as she began to cry, her head just below his chin, at just the right height for him to smell the scent of her hair, which was neither fruity nor sweet but simply Ronnie and simply perfect.

"Shhh," he told her softly, tightening his hold on her as he felt her small frame begin to shake with her tears. "I'm here. It's ok." He didn't demand that she tell him what had happened; she either would or she wouldn't, it made no matter to him. Either way she was here, and he was holding her, and he was as close to her as he would ever be.

"I don't…I can't…" she tried so hard to speak, was so clearly fighting to tell him, to explain what she must have felt was an intrusion. "I don't know if I can do this anymore," she finally managed. "Jack…he…I…I think I…" she trailed off again, crying, and he knew she must have been soaking the front of his shirt but he couldn't have cared less. He did wish she hadn't said Jack's name. Jack who was gone again, fighting a war somewhere, Jack who was lucky enough to have the most enchanting woman in the world in his bed. Jack who was selfless enough to leave her there for months at a time, waiting for him while he fought the good fight. Perhaps that was why Jack had her and Andy did not. Jack was a good man.

"I'm just so lonely," Ronnie whispered against Andy's chest. He realized she had stopped crying, and he tilted her chin up so he could see her eyes. He needed to read her face, needed her to tell him, even without words, what she needed, why she had come.

"I can't keep going on my own," she said, and her voiced sounded so small, so tired, her eyes shining with her tears, desperately trying to get him to follow where she was going. "How can he love me if he leaves me all the time?"

Andy didn't think; he knew he couldn't, for if he did he would let her go now, and he would never know what it felt like to be hers, even for just one night.

He kissed her.

"If you were mine," he said softly, "I'd never leave you." He meant it, too. Andy could be a selfish man, knew this about himself, and if she were his, he'd never let her go.

She smiled up at him, though the sadness lingered around her eyes. "I know," she said.

He kissed her temple, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, the edge of her mouth. He couldn't stop himself. Each kiss was more potent than a shot of whiskey, each time her felt her skin under his lips he knew he needed to feel more the next. In that instant she became his only vice, and he knew he'd never take another drink again. How could he, when he knew that taste of her skin was more intoxicating than any liquor, more addicting than any drug?

He feathered kisses along her jaw, and she moved her head down to catch his mouth with her own. He pushed his tongue past her lips and she melted around him, moving her hands out from between them to wrap around his back.

This was why she had come to him, he realized. He felt the need in her tongue tangling with his, the desire in her kiss. She needed him as badly as he needed her. He moved his hands down towards her waist and she moaned into his mouth, her hips pushing against him. There could be no doubt. He would have her. She would be his, as he had always wanted her to be.

He regained coherent thought just long enough to decide that if he was going to make love to her it would be in his bed, not in his living room on the couch like teenagers, or against the wall in an act of desperation. He ran his hands down her arms until he found her hands, and finally broke the kiss.

Her lips were attractively swollen and her face flushed, her eyes questioning.

"Not here," he breathed, and she nodded, kissing him again before taking a step back and allowing him to lead her into the bedroom.

They had barely crossed the threshold before he gave into temptation and put his hands on her again, this time sure of his purpose. He kissed her again, and took hold of the hem of her shirt, not releasing her lips until he tugged the thin fabric up and over her head.

He took in the sight of her for a moment; the perfect shape of her, the ragged quality of her breathing, the confidence in her grace as she watched him, watching her. What had he done, that such a woman would choose a man like him? He didn't dwell on this thought; he caught her by the hips and brought her to him, his fingers toying with the waistband of her jeans as his lips found hers again. He could kiss her every moment of every day for the rest of his life if God would let him.

His hands moved up her back in search of the clasp of her bra as her own snaked between them, deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt. She took her hands off him just long enough for him to ease the straps of her bra down her arms before her fingers returned to him, and his lips left the safe haven of her lips to begin laying kisses across her chin, down the line of her neck, over her collarbone. He lingered there, tongue and teeth and lips leaving a mark, and for a moment he worried she would be angry with him, but then she hummed softly and ground her hips against him. She wanted him to mark her, to claim her.

She eased his shirt off his shoulders and began to map the muscles of his back with her hands, but then his lips continued their journey southward and finally, finally crested one of her breasts, and she lost control. He felt it, felt her let go of whatever she was worrying about, and she grasped his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he continued to kiss her, moving across her skin until his lips slipped over her nipple and she moaned softly. While his mouth was occupied with her breasts his hands traced the curve of her waist to her hips, around to the front of her jeans. She hummed her approval as he located the button, eased the zipper down, and pushed her jeans off her hips.

She had the most beautiful legs he had ever seen, and he couldn't stop himself; he slipped down her body, following the path of her pants down her legs, leaving kisses on her thighs, behind her knees, along her perfect calves, at her delicate ankles as he freed her feet and threw her jeans in the general direction of her discarded shirt.

He sat back on his heels for a moment, looking up at her, clad only in her panties and her own personal radiance. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She smiled softly at him, a look that told him she'd seen the depth of his feeling for her written all over his face.

He ran his hands up the length of her legs as he stood, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth until she whimpered. His hands had found their way back to her hips, and he tugged her underwear down so she could kick them off and then he tangled his fingers in her glorious wealth of hair. He'd always loved her hair; it was wild and unruly, the way she ought to be.

She grasped the waistband of his pants and pulled him impossibly closer, breaking their kiss long enough to murmur, "These need to go," against his lips before she began undoing his belt. His hands found their way to her breasts, feeling her skin, the softness of her curves, the hard bumps of her nipples and for a moment she fumbled with his pants and a part of him felt absurdly proud that he had distracted her from so easy a task. He took advantage of her momentary distraction to walk her backwards toward the bed, never taking his lips away from hers.

She was caught off guard when the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she fell back on it, somehow managing to make even such an undignified motion graceful and bewitching. She slid backwards on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows, watching him as he took off his pants and boxers himself. If he wasn't lost before, the look on her face sealed the deal, and he was on her in an instant.

He pushed himself inside her with no hesitation, and she cried out, but pulled him closer and bucked her hips up against him. He groaned aloud at the feel of her; she was perfect. He could never have enough of her, enough of her skin and her smell and the sounds she made as he moved inside her.

He caught one of her nipples between his teeth and she moaned; he thrust into her and she hummed, and most surprisingly, she giggled when he kissed her just behind her ear. Jack Ravera, Andy decided, was an idiot for ever leaving when he had this creature in his bed, and Andy was going to do everything he could to keep her for himself. He saw the mark he had left on her neck back in the living room, and that primal need to claim her returned. He caught her hands in his own and lifted them over her head, causing her to stretch taught beneath him as he set a hard, steady rhythm, rocking into her until she was whimpering, and then moaning, and then screaming his name as she trembled beneath him, her name on his lips, her expression of joyful relief burned into his eyes. He had never been happier than he was in the moment as he filled her and she completed him.

Happiness, however, is fleeting.

He fell asleep with her tucked up beside him, her head under his chin, the curve of her ass pressed against his groin, their feet tangled up and his arm thrown over the swell of her hip. When he woke it was still dark out, and she had moved away from him in sleep to lay flat on her stomach, the blanket slung low across her hips, revealing the perfect slope of her back, her smooth skin just begging to be touched.

She seemed so peaceful in her sleep, even though her face was turned away from him. Her whole body was relaxed, her breathing even. He wondered again at his luck, and thanked God for the gift of her. He ran a hand down the plane of her back, over the dip at her hips, the swell of her ass. There was so much of her he hadn't explored, so many secrets he had yet to discover, and he prayed for the time to find them all. He felt the urge to make love to her again, to make her let him take away her worries, ease her mind, let her feel the love he felt for her.

_Love._

Usually the word made him scoff in derision or turn tail and run, but in this moment it was the only word that felt right.

He leaned forward and kissed his way from one shoulder to the other, running his hand down her arm until he found her own. He kept reaching for her hands, like a child holding on to the only person he trusted. She was the only one he trusted with his heart, with himself, and he would gladly give her all of it. He already had.

She stirred softly, and he moved her hair out of the way so he could lay kisses on the back of her neck. She hummed and squeezed his hand, but did not turn to look at him.

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly and he could hear the smile in her voice. He wished he could see that smile light up her features, but in the future he would be grateful he hadn't. It would have been the last time he saw Ronnie smile for many years, and that memory would have cut him like a knife.

"I was just thinking," he said, breaking up his words with intermittent kisses, "how much I love you."

It was the wrong thing to say.

He felt her whole body tense up, and she slid away from him.

"Andy," she said, no hint of a smile now, "could you get my clothes please?"

She sat up, covering her chest with the blanket and keeping her back resolutely toward him. She flinched away when he reached out to touch her.

"Ronnie-"

"Please, Andy," she was practically begging now, "please bring me my clothes."

He could never deny her anything, and so he rose. He gathered her shirt, her jeans, her bra, her panties, balling them up and tossing them to her. He began pulling on his boxers and pants as she pulled on her underwear. He was waiting for an explanation.

He wouldn't get it.

"Ronnie," he said again after a moment, "What-"

"Stop it," she pleaded her voice muffled as she pulled her shirt over her head.

She bolted past him, practically running, her hands tucked into her pockets so he couldn't grab hold of them. He tore after her.

"Ronnie, please don't go. Stay. Please. I'm sorry," he told her as she reached the door, fumbling with the lock until it opened. He didn't know what had happened, what had caused her to run, but he would have done anything to stop her, to bring her back.

She turned to look at him one last time as she passed through the door. For a moment it looked like she was going to say something, but then she shook her head and closed the door behind her, leaving Andy alone and devastated in her wake.

She didn't answer her phone when he called, and when Andy came into work the next morning he discovered she'd applied for a transfer. The only available position was in Internal Affairs, and she had gone willingly. The worst part was in a matter of months, no one remembered that Andy Flynn had been partners with a woman named Ronnie who had a beautiful smile and a kind heart; all anyone remembered was an IA bitch named Raydor who cared more about the rules than she did her fellow officers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sergeant David Gabriel**

Gabriel stared at the murder board. He'd been staring at it for the last twenty minutes. The Chief and Flynn were gone, Sanchez and Tao had gone for coffee, and Provenza was doing a crossword, but Gabriel couldn't stop staring at the murder board. Something didn't make sense. Something had to be wrong. He just _knew_ there was something missing; no one had seen anything, Raydor didn't have anything to say, the fingerprints weren't back yet, DNA would take even longer, but there had to be some way to identify the dead man in the morgue. There had to be some connection, right?

Gabriel liked it when things made sense. He liked patterns. He liked being able to solve the puzzle, that _aha!_ moment when everything was suddenly clear and he could get the bad guy. It just wasn't happening on this case. All the evidence suggested that this guy was just a burglar, some random criminal who walked into the wrong damn house, but Gabriel wasn't satisfied with that answer. He couldn't be. They weren't really sure, and the poor son of a bitch wasn't around to tell them his side of things. There would be no one for the Chief to interview this time around. And that grated on Gabriel's nerves.

Not that he could fault Raydor; he'd seen her face when they showed up at her house, seen her with her arms around her children. If the roles were reversed, he would have done the same thing. He was sure no one in Major Crimes thought she had behaved inappropriately, no matter how satisfying it would have been to bust the head of FID for the improper use of force. No, Raydor was above reproach.

Unless she wasn't. There was still that small, irritating voice in the back of Gabriel's head that insisted something wasn't right. He stared at the pictures again, standing up and crossing to the board to look into the face of the dead intruder. He was just a man, a man with bloody holes in his chest, his eyes open and unseeing, and he had nothing to say.

Gabriel ran a hand over his head and checked his watch, wondering when Flynn and the Chief would get back. They'd gone to speak to Raydor a while ago, and Gabriel didn't envy them that task.

"Excuse me," he heard a woman's voice from the doorway. "They told me to come speak with someone in Major Crimes?"

Gabriel turned and Provenza put down his crossword puzzle. There, in the entrance to the murder room, stood a middle-aged woman in absurdly expensive clothes, eyeing the contents of the room with distaste. She saw the murder board, and her eyes went wide as she gasped theatrically.

"Oh my GOD!" she cried, covering her mouth with a hand. "I can't believe she actually KILLED someone!"

Gabriel did his best to keep the frustration out of his voice when he spoke to her. "I'm sorry ma'am, what can we do for you?"

The woman took him in for a moment. "Are you with Major Crimes? " she asked dubiously.

Gabriel gritted his teeth. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Sergeant Gabriel, and this is Lieutenant Provenza. Do you need something?"

She nodded. "I think I have some information about a murder. Only I didn't know it was a murder. I thought she just shot him a little. No one tells me anything. You go away for one night and look what happens!" she said with a huff.

"Why don't you have a seat, ma'am," Provenza said, motioning to the chair by his desk, "and tell us everything. From the beginning. Slowly."

She nodded and sank into the chair with a sigh. "It's like this- I was outside on Friday morning watching the gardener- he's been sneaking off for these _breaks _and billing me so he can sit in his truck and _eat_,"she saw Provenza's stern look and got back on track. "Anyway I was outside and I saw Sharon-"

"Sharon Raydor?" Gabriel interrupted, surprised.

The woman looked at him like she'd never seen anyone quite so slow before. "Yes, Sharon Raydor! Who else would I be talking about? You think I know a lot of murderers, do you?"

"Ma'am, if you could just stick to the story," Provenza said.

"Right. So I saw Sharon in her yard-"

"Are you neighbors?" Gabriel interrupted.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Yes! She lives right next door! Can I keep going now?"

"Of course, I'm sorry for the interruption," Gabriel said, but she didn't notice his sarcasm.

"So I saw Sharon working in her yard. Can you believe it? All those flowers and all those children and she doesn't have any kind of help! It's a shame, really, she runs herself ragged and all she needs is a nice nanny or something like that, we all know she can afford it." She smiled what she must have thought was a kindly smile, and continued, "So I saw Sharon in her yard, and I went over to talk to her for a minute. She had the day off from work, so she was playing in the dirt while the kids were in school. I can think of about a thousand better ways to spend a day off, but to each their own, right? So while we were talking, this man pulled up in a big red truck, and Sharon got scared. She didn't say anything but I could tell. She told me I should go home, but of course I didn't, because I wanted to know what was going to happen. I mean, it's about time she got a man, but I did think it would be someone…well…someone better off than this gentleman appeared to be."

"What happened then?" Gabriel prompted her when she trailed off. The woman smoothed the front of her skirt and scoffed.

"Well he walked right up and started screaming at her, that's what! He started yelling about how it was all her fault, and how could she do that, and what a bitch she was, and he was going to tell everyone, blah blah blah. I had _no_ idea what he was going on about. It's just so rude! Barging in on a conversation like that. And then Sharon, well, she just kept trying to calm him down and finally she slapped him and he said, 'this isn't over' and left. And then Sharon went inside and didn't apologize to me or anything!" She crossed her arms and gave them a beseeching look, as if they really ought to feel sorry for her.

Gabriel couldn't decide if he wanted to hug her or kick her out of the murder room. She was annoying, for sure, and he really didn't appreciate her condescending attitude, but she had proven him right. There was more going on here than they first thought. And Raydor was keeping secrets. That thought left Gabriel a little unsettled; Raydor was dangerous enough when it came to finding out the truth, who knew what she'd do to conceal it?

"What did he look like?" Provenza asked, standing to pull a picture of the intruder off the murder board. He held it in his hand, and waited for the woman to describe him.

"He was tall," she said slowly, "and big, tough looking. His clothes were dirty."

"Is this the man you saw fighting with her?" Provenza asked, handing her the picture. She looked at it for a moment and shrugged.

"Who can say?" she said. "That was Friday morning. I left about an hour later to spend the day with a friend in Santa Barbara. I stayed there the night, and when I got back this morning, Allen Rowlins, who lives across the street, told me Sharon had shot someone, and that the police were asking around! So I thought I'd do my civic duty and come down here."

"And you're not sure if this is the same man?" Provenza asked, rolling his eyes at Gabriel over the woman's head.

"Maybe if you had a picture of him in different clothes," she mused. "He does look terrible. I never thought Sharon had it in her, you know? She's such a lovely woman. Always has something nice to say, and her children are so well behaved!"

_She always has something nice to say?_ Gabriel wondered. _I don't think we're talking about the same Sharon Raydor…_

"And it's just too bad," the woman continued, oblivious to the fact that both Provenza and Gabriel were growing tired of her babbling, "about what happened to her husband. He was a nice man. And after everything she went through for him, too! He just up and died in a helicopter crash. And left her all those kids to take care of." She shook her head.

"What do you mean, 'after everything she went through'?" Gabriel asked. He couldn't help himself. There was so much he still needed to know about Sharon Raydor.

"Well her parents nearly disowned her, that's what! All that money and they almost cut her off. And she had to move out to Los Angeles and she was alone for months and months at a time while he was gone. Such a shame," she added. "Sharon's such a pretty girl, I'm sure she could have done much better."

"She did just fine," Andy Flynn said from the doorway. He and the Chief had evidently been standing there for some time, and judging by the look on Flynn's face, their interview with Raydor had not gone well. Gabriel stood up to introduce the new witness to the Chief.

"Chief this is…" he faltered, realizing he'd never asked the woman for her name.

"Eleanor Alexander," the woman said, not rising from her chair.

"She's Captain Raydor's neighbor, and she has some information regarding the case," Provenza said.

"In that case, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Alexander. Can I ask why you weren't interviewed last night?" This question was directed more at Gabriel and Provenza than the over dressed harpy in front of them.

"She was in Santa Barbara last night, Chief," Gabriel told her.

"Well alright then. Mrs. Alexander, why don't you step into my office, and tell me what you told these gentlemen?"

The woman rose and crinkled her nose in distaste. "You mean I have to tell the whole story _again_?"

"Yes, ma'am, if it's not too much trouble," the Chief said sweetly, but her firm grip on the woman's upper arm spoke volumes.

Flynn watched the pair of them walk away, then turned on his heel and headed back out the door, not saying a word.

Gabriel watched him go, confused, and too tired to determine if he cared enough to find out what was wrong.

"It's going to be a long day," Provenza said, picking up the crossword.


	7. Chapter 7

"_What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world."_

_-Robert E. Lee, letter to his wife, 1864_

**Captain Sharon Raydor **

Sharon hung up the phone, hands shaking. Maria wasn't back with the kids yet, the house was empty and quiet and Sharon had nowhere to run. The Chief's voice echoed in her mind, _Captain, we're going to need you to come in, we have a lead we'd like to discuss with you…_ They knew. Sharon wasn't an idiot. Of course they knew. Stupid, snotty, self-important Eleanor had seen the whole thing. Sharon had begged her to go. She knew what was coming. And now here they were. Eleanor had probably run straight to Major Crimes; that woman did so love to gossip, and she had quite the juicy tidbit. She had no idea what had actually happened, of course, but Sharon knew that didn't matter to Eleanor. The woman wasn't nearly as concerned with the truth as she was with having more information than anyone else. This was something she could lord over Sharon, and Sharon had no doubt that was exactly what she'd done.

_Fuck._

Now she was going to have to go down to Major Crimes, and explain everything. _Everything._

_ Fuck._

It was stupid, of course, thinking that she could keep this to herself. Thinking she could cover it up. Sooner or later they'd figure it out. They'd get a hit on his prints, or Amelia would report her husband missing, or they'd find a picture of Will in the box under Sharon's bed, or something, and then the truth would come out, maybe not today but eventually, and Sharon would have to look Brenda Leigh Johnson in the eye and tell her the truth.

_It's all my fault._

She tried to tell herself that it wasn't true, that the man she killed couldn't possibly be who she thought he was, but she'd seen his face, seen the anger, the hatred there. She'd seen him gunning for her, his eyes so far beyond caring they were almost soulless. And she'd known. She'd known why he was there and for a moment she was almost on his side. She'd thought, just for an instant, _put down your gun, Sharon. You deserve this. _And then she'd thought about Emma behind the island in the kitchen, terrified; sweet Emma who had already given up her dreams of going away to school to help take care of the kids, to clean up Sharon's mess. Emma didn't deserve to be left alone. Enough people had already walked out on Emma, so Sharon squared her shoulders and fired the damn gun.

And he'd fallen, and she'd seen his face, and she hit her knees right there in the hallway and sobbed like a child for all the mistakes she'd made, and she'd prayed that God would send Andy Flynn to her.

And he had.

Because he always came when she needed him. Never when she deserved him, because Sharon knew she didn't deserve someone who loved her unconditionally, and he did, he just _did_, and he came to her and he held her hand and looked her in the eyes and she hadn't felt that safe in so long, so long…

_It's all my fault. _

Because of course it was her fault. She'd known what she was doing when she went to him all those years ago. She'd known how he would respond and she'd gone anyway because she needed to. She needed to feel him, needed to hear him say what she knew was true, what she'd never breathe aloud. That he loved her. That she loved him back.

_Loved._

The tears began to fall, and Sharon shook her head, angry with herself. She had cried more in the last twenty-four hours than she had since Jack died. And now she was crying for everything she had done to him, and to Andy.

There used to be good days. She used to be happy. And standing there in Maria's kitchen, she couldn't hide from those memories, couldn't stop them from playing like a film in her mind.

_Five years earlier…_

Sharon couldn't sit still. She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, smoothing her skirt, running her fingers through her hair, checking her watch. She hated this waiting. Sometimes she felt like that was all she did anymore, wait. And here she sat, eight months pregnant, fiddling with the ring on her finger, waiting. The old woman sitting next to her was watching her, and when Sharon caught her eye, the woman gave her a toothy grin before looking away.

They'd agreed not to tell the girls, to let it be a surprise. Jack hadn't known himself the exact day he'd be coming home until just a few weeks ago. The Army had given him a few weeks' leave so he could be home when the baby was born; they owed him that, at least, after all his years of service. And so Sharon was sitting in the airport, waiting for his plane to land, waiting to see him for the first time in ages. She hadn't found out she was pregnant until after he left for what was supposed to be an eighteen-month tour. She'd been so terrified at first, so scared that they wouldn't let him come home, that he'd miss this child's birth. He'd been there for each of the girls, and Sharon couldn't stand the thought of going through this without him.

But it didn't matter anymore, because his plane was going to land any second now and he was going to be there. She was going to be able to hold him. She was going to hear his voice; not some twenty-minute conversation over the phone from thousands of miles away but really hear it, feel it reverberating in her chest as he wrapped his arms around her. She couldn't help the smile that blossomed over her face at the thought, and checked her watch again. _He should be here by now…_

"When are you due?" the old woman next to her asked with a kindly smile.

Sharon never got tired of having this conversation. "About three weeks," she answered, wondering if her own smile appeared as big as it felt.

"Oh my, you're just about to pop!" the old woman crowed. "Boy or girl?" she asked.

Sharon positively beamed. "A boy," she said. "Our first boy."

"You have a daughter?"

"We have three," she answered, as always prepared for the momentary expression of surprise on the stranger's face. _What is it about me, _she wondered,_ that people are always shocked when I tell them that?_

"Oh good for you, dear!" the woman said, laying a friendly hand on her arm for a moment.

There was an announcement over the loudspeaker; Jack's plane had landed. Sharon's heart began to pound so loudly in her ears she could barely hear the woman speaking to her.

"That's my son's flight," the woman said. "He came all the way out here just for my birthday, can you believe it?" she seemed delighted by the thought.

"That's very sweet of him," Sharon said, holding her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking with excitement.

"He's a sweet boy." The old woman smiled. "Who are you waiting for?" she asked

"My husband," Sharon answered. "He's on the same flight."

Sharon liked talking to the woman. It made the waiting easier. Kept her calm. She'd always enjoyed these random conversations, when she'd learn everything and nothing about a person all at the same time, then shake their hand and walk away. Every run-in like this one just reminded Sharon that there were good people in the world, people who had families and hopes and dreams, and waited in the airport to see their sons.

A clean-cut, middle-aged man, carry-on in hand, broke away from the throng of people and approached them, and the old woman stood up so he could wrap her in a one-armed hug.

"You look great, ma," he told her. The old woman positively beamed.

"Mitchell," she said, "this is-" she faltered, realizing she hadn't asked for Sharon's name.

"Sharon," she answered, standing up and extending her hand. "Your mother's been keeping me company."

Mitchell smiled. "She's good for that. I think she'd talk to a brick wall if we let her."

"Oh hush," the old woman chided gently. "Sharon, honey, we'll wait with you 'til your husband gets here."

Sharon was genuinely touched. It was completely unnecessary, of course, but it was sweet of her to offer.

"I met a guy on the plane you would have loved, ma," Mitchell said, trying to avoid the awkward silence that inevitably fell. "He's a soldier, been one his whole life. He's got some amazing stories. The kind of man who makes you proud to have met him…" Mitchell kept talking, but Sharon wasn't listening anymore. She had seen Jack, just for an instant, through the throng of people. She couldn't focus on anything else, didn't see the old woman reach out and touch her son's arm to silence him, a look of wonder on her face as she watched Sharon scanning the crowd.

And then he was there. Still in desert camo, his huge green rucksack thrown over his shoulder. Sharon's heart skidded to a halt; after all these years, every time he came home, she still felt this elation, this unbelievable joy. She felt tears in the corners of her eyes, but she fought to hold them in.

Until he dropped his bag, right there in the middle of the crowd, and ran towards her. The same way he had when he'd come back from his very first tour, right after they were married. He ran straight to her, and pulled her into his arms, careful as always. She was crying in earnest now and people were watching but she didn't care because he kissed her then, hard and long and then people were clapping, but he was here, he was _here_.

"I missed you so much, baby," he whispered into her ear, and she clutched him fiercely back.

"Don't ever leave me again," she told him, kissing him again.

"I won't," he said. "I promise."

He finally let go of her long enough to drop to his knees and press a kiss on her belly.

"Hello in there," he murmured quietly. "I'm your daddy." His hand found Sharon's without having to look.

She gently tugged him back to his feet, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. It was then that Jack noticed Mitchell and his mother, still standing there. He smiled, and extended his hand to Mitchell.

"Mitchell," he said. "It was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too, Jack," Mitchell answered, with an expression that said more than words.

"Mitchell's mother kept me company while I waited," Sharon told him, and Jack beamed at the old woman.

"Well thank you, ma'am," he said, "for looking after my girl."

"It was my pleasure. You take care of her," the old woman said.

Jack smiled. "That's all I ever want to do, ma'am."

_Present Day_

Sharon taped a note on the front door for Maria, climbed up into her SUV, and headed towards police headquarters, trying to get her thoughts in order. How much to say, what to keep to herself. She knew if she just walked in there without planning everything out first, she'd wind up saying too much, more than they needed to know, and she'd be ruined. She could tell the important parts of the story without touching on the darkest truth. They'd understand she was still in the right, surely. Anyone could understand.

Anyone but Sharon, who had carried the guilt in her heart for eight years, just waiting for a moment like this to bring all of it to light. Because the story that had culminated with her shooting William Duncan in her foyer last night had begun eight years ago on a lonely night when she made the biggest mistake of her life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Lieutenant Andy Flynn**

Andy stared into his coffee cup, only half-listening to the Chief as she explained their predicament. Sharon had lied. She had looked him in the eye and told him she had no idea who the dead man was. She had lied. Twice. She'd played him. And what was that apology all about? Was she trying to gain his sympathy, to keep him on her side? _Damn her_, he thought. _Damn her._

"Lieutenant, I'd like for you to sit in on my interview with the Captain," the Chief said.

It took a great deal of restraint to keep himself from groaning aloud. Instead he simply nodded.

"You seem to know our Captain better than anyone," the Chief continued, and Andy became slightly nervous. He knew that look, that tone of voice. She was fishing for information. And he would give it to her. Not everything, surely, but enough to keep her satisfied.

"Captain Raydor and I were partners back in Robbery Homicide," he supplied, hoping that would do. It was a vain hope. No matter how badly he didn't want to talk about Sharon Raydor, the Chief would keep going until she got what she wanted.

"Must not have spent very long together," she mused, not catching his eye. He knew that tactic, too. She wasn't actually asking a question, but she was demanding an answer. _Damn these women,_ he thought.

"It was actually about seven years, Chief," he answered, pleased with the surprised expression that crossed her face. She certainly wasn't expecting that.

"Hmmm. And then she up and transferred to Internal Affairs." She was studying Raydor's file, but she must have known it held no answers. The things the Chief really wanted to know were contained inside Andy's head, not on some piece of paper somewhere.

"We had a fight and she couldn't get away from me fast enough. IA was the only department with an opening." It was the truth, mostly. He'd sworn a long time ago, not to Sharon but to himself, that he would never tell anyone what had happened between them. He didn't want anyone to know just how hard he'd fallen for her, and just how royally he'd screwed everything up. Andy Flynn was private man, especially when it came to his own personal mistakes. And what had happened with Sharon Raydor, well, that was right up there with the worst of them.

"That's interesting, Lieutenant," the Chief said, suddenly looking him square in the face.

"How so?"

"The Captain told me she chose to transfer to Internal Affairs. Said she thought it would be the fastest way to achieve rank." The Chief was studying him closely, waiting for his next move, and he should have known better after all these years of working with her, should have known that the best course of action would be to bite his tongue and nod, but Andy Flynn did nothing so well as shove his own foot in his mouth.

He snorted. "I'll bet she did, Chief. I'll bet that's exactly what she'd want you to believe."

"What do you mean?"

"Sharon Raydor is not an ambitious woman. She cares about the people around her, and she cares about doing her job the best she can, and she really couldn't give two shits about the number of stars on her collar. But she knows that's not how you see her, so she told you exactly what you wanted to hear. Let you go on believing she was someone she's not, because that's easier than telling you the truth."

"If nothing else, Lieutenant, it looks to me like that statement establishes that Captain Raydor is a liar."

He hadn't been this angry with the Chief since the first night he met her, when she came marching into his crime scene bossing people around and trampling on his authority. She was trying to bait him, treating him like a suspect, and he almost hated her for that. Hated her for not trusting Sharon's word. Hated himself because he didn't trust her either.

"She'd only lie to protect someone she cared about. I don't care what you think, Ronnie's not a dishonest person."

_ Shit_.

The Chief raised an eyebrow when she heard him say _Ronnie._ No doubt it was the first time she'd ever heard it, and Andy knew that Raydor didn't come off as the kind of person who had a nickname. As the kind of person who had friends to give her a nickname. But she was, she really was, she was so much more than the Chief, or Major Crimes, or the LAPD, or even Andy ever gave her credit for. And he knew this.

He was saved any more interrogation, thankfully, by the appearance of Sharon Raydor in the murder room. He saw the Chief straighten in her chair, and he turned to stare through the glass windows of her office, his eyes finding Sharon with ease, the way they always did. She was always the only person in any room to him. He knew the Chief was probably watching him, watching Sharon, he knew she was probably trying to gauge just how much he cared about Sharon, but he didn't care. She looked so tired, and proud; he wondered at her strength. She kept her back straight and her head up even though she knew that every person in the murder room thought she was a liar. And a murderer. She stopped by the murder board, keeping her back to it, not looking at the pictures of her home covered in blood, and stared straight into the Chief's office. Straight at Andy. He caught her eye, but she didn't smile. Didn't nod. Just looked at him.

"Alright, Lieutenant, let's get this over with," the Chief told him, rising from her chair. He stood and followed her as she swept through the door and approached Sharon.

"Chief," Sharon said carefully. "I understand there's something you wanted to discuss."

"Yes, Captain, as a matter of fact there is. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with you in the interview room."

Just for an instant Sharon's face fell, and her eyes found Andy's, beseeching. He opened his mouth to ask the Chief if maybe the conference room might be a better setting for this conversation, but the rest of the team had already bolted for the electronics room to watch, and Sharon pulled herself together.

"Very well, Chief. After you," she said with a smile.

And so they all fell into line, the Chief and then Sharon and then Andy. Andy kept his eyes on his shoes; he didn't trust himself to look up. Didn't trust himself to keep from grabbing Sharon's shoulders and demanding to know why she'd lied; or worse, reaching for her hand and telling her everything was going to be alright.

They made it to the room and the Chief opened the door. Sharon slipped by her and settled in a chair, delicately crossing her legs and smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. The Chief sat down across from her, and as Andy began to drop himself into a chair, Sharon spoke.

"Actually, Chief, if you don't mind, I'd prefer to have this conversation without Lieutenant Flynn present," Sharon said, keeping her eyes on Brenda. Andy felt as though he'd been punched in the gut.

"Captain-" he started, but she interrupted him.

"Andy, please." She said. The Chief turned to him, making it quite obvious that it was up to him whether he stayed or went. He could never deny Sharon anything, and so he rose. He left the room, making sure to keep his back turned towards her. He didn't want to look into her eyes, and more than that, he didn't want to look for her eyes and find she avoided his gaze. _Damn these women_, he thought again.

He made his way to the electronics room, determined to keep his mouth shut no matter what the others said to him. When he opened the door, he found Pope and Taylor, Provenza and Tao, Buzz and Sanchez, and Gabriel, all sitting or leaning in various positions throughout the room, staring at the monitors. He glanced at them himself, at the video screens connected to the cameras trained on Sharon's face, and noticed something odd.

"Why aren't they talking?" he asked, wondering if something was wrong with the system.

"They're waiting for you," Gabriel said with a note of surprise in his voice.

Andy looked at him in confusion, but Provenza jumped in. "Evidently the Wicked Witch wanted you to hear what she had to say. She just didn't want to look at you while she said it."

Andy honestly couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he just settled himself in a chair as he heard the Chief begin to speak.

"Alright, Captain, I think we've waited long enough. Let's get this show on the road."

Andy watched Sharon run her fingers through her hair, an old nervous habit, and clear her throat. "Very well, Chief. I'm assuming that the new lead comes from Eleanor Alexander."

The Chief nodded. "Your neighbor had an interesting story to tell us."

"Of that I have no doubt, Chief. I would, however, like to set the record straight."

"You think she lied?"

"I know she couldn't have told you the whole truth."

"Well, I'm all ears, Captain. Let's hear it."

Andy didn't like where this was headed. He didn't like the idea of strange men showing up at Sharon's house and fighting with her. He didn't like the idea that there might be something happening in her personal life she didn't feel comfortable telling him to his face. Then again, he was the one who drew stick figures of her on the white board, who talked shit about her behind her back. He was the one who never defended her. What right did he have to be angry with her?

"For starters, the man who came to my house on Friday morning is not the man I killed."

"Really? What's his name, then?"

"Harry. Harry Bolding."

Tao leapt up and headed out the door to find the mysterious Harry Bolding, but Andy was glued to the monitor, to Sharon's face. There was more coming. And it was going to be bad.

"Alright, and why was Mr. Bolding so upset with you? Your neighbor says you slapped him in the face."

Sharon blanched. "He's worried about his brother in law. He blames me for what happened to Will, because Will blames me, but you have to believe me, it wasn't my fault, not really, or at least it wasn't my intention, I never meant to, Jesus, I never meant to-"

Sharon Raydor rarely came undone. She always looked impeccable, always spoke precisely and briefly, but in this moment, Andy understood just how upset she really was. He'd seen her that way once before, when she'd shown up at his door eight years ago, having just fought with her husband and unable to string together a coherent sentence. And he remembered all too well how that had ended. Now he was terrified for her, afraid for what she might say, what secrets she might wind up telling the Chief. And Brenda wouldn't even have to try. All she had to do was sit back and wait for Sharon to dig herself into a hole too deep to crawl back out of.

Sharon was shaking her head, trying to pull herself back together, and the Chief was just sitting there, watching her. Andy was torn between feeling righteous, because she had lied, and feeling devastated, because she was all alone. And that was his fault. At least, he felt like it was.

Provenza looked giddy as a schoolboy.

"I'm sorry, Chief, about…that. It's a bit of a long story," Sharon said finally. She sat up straighter. Andy was proud of her, and he hoped they wouldn't have to sit through another rush of emotion. He wasn't sure how much more of that he could take before he broke up the interview, and took her in his arms.

"Well, I've got plenty of time, Captain. Why don't you start at the beginning."

Sharon nodded. Took a deep breath. Looked straight at the camera, straight at Andy, and started speaking.

"Two years ago, my husband was deployed to Iraq. He promised me it would be his last tour overseas, but he promised me the same thing when our son was born. It was silly of me to believe him, but I did. And then I was speaking with him on the phone one night, and he started talking about going back, one more time. He said Will- that's Colonel William Duncan- was going to do one more tour, and he'd like to go with him."

"You mentioned him before, Will. Who is he?"

"He's Harry Bolding's brother-in-law. He's married to Harry's sister, Amelia. Or he was. He and Jack were good friends; they served together overseas several times. I think I should mention here, Chief, that I never met Will. He didn't live here in L.A.. Amelia moved here last year to be closer to her brother, but Will didn't come with her."

Andy remembered hearing Will's name. Jack had all kinds of stories, and most of them involved his friend in one way or another. They were always planning for Will to come out to Los Angeles, but it never quite panned out. Andy had the sinking suspicion that Will may actually have made it to L.A., just a few years too late.

"Alright Captain. Let's keep going with your story."

"Right. So Jack told me he was thinking about going back one more time, and I got angry. It was hard enough having to wait for him when I thought he'd be coming home for good; finding out that he was just going to turn around and leave me again was more than I could deal with. I yelled at him." She paused. Looked straight at the camera. Took a deep breath. "I told him some things I shouldn't have told him."

"God damn it!" Andy cried, bashing his fist on the counter as he flew out of his chair.

He knew exactly what she'd told him. And he didn't care if everyone in the room was staring at him, or if his fingers were aching. He was so angry, not at her, never at her. He was angry at himself for thinking he could sleep with Jack's wife and never tell him. Angry that he'd somehow become the sort of man who slept with other men's wives. Angry that Sharon had to deal with telling him by herself, that he hadn't been there somehow. Angry that Jack didn't get the chance to beat the shit out of him. Because if he was honest, Andy had been waiting for eight years for someone to beat the shit out of him for being stupid enough to screw around with his partner.

No matter how much he loved her.

"Lieutenant Flynn, you need to calm down, or I'm gonna throw you out of here so fast," Pope said quietly, and Andy nodded. Settled back into his chair. Waited for the rest.

"So you got into a fight with your husband," the Chief said, trying to encourage Sharon to finish telling her story.

Sharon nodded. "I…I hung up the phone. And Jack got permission from the Army to come home. They do that sometimes, let officers come home for personal reasons, just for a little while. There was this kid in his unit who was coming home because his father died. Will was supposed to fly the kid in a helicopter from wherever they were to the main base, and then from there the kid would catch a flight home."

Andy had a pretty good idea where this was going. He fought a war with himself; he wanted to watch her, keep an eye on her, but at the same time he wanted to cover his face with his hands, hide from the look on her face. He rested his hands on his knees, and waited.

"So Jack switched duties with Will so he could fly to the base, and come home and see me. Will was standing on the ground, watching Jack take off. He watched the helicopter fly away. He watched them come under fire, listened to Jack on the radio. He watched the helicopter explode."

The room was deadly silent. Even Provenza looked a bit shocked, a bit devastated. For his part, Andy found he couldn't think. Couldn't process what he'd just heard. Jack was dead, because Sharon had told him the truth about what happened. Jack was dead because Andy didn't have any self-control when it came to the man's wife. Jack was dead because Andy had fucked everything up.

"Captain," the Chief began, but Sharon cut her off.

"Please, Chief, I'm almost done. Let me finish." Sharon's eyes were shining, but she wouldn't let herself cry. Not now. Not with everyone watching. Not when she was so close to speaking the truth aloud for the first time in her whole life. She had to say it.

"Will knew about our fight. Jack told him what I said. He was devastated when Jack died. He came home and he was distant. Violent. The Army sent him to a shrink and he was diagnosed with PTSD. They said something about the shock of seeing such a close friend die, the shock of knowing it should have been him on that helicopter was too much for him. Will started beating Amelia, and she left. Which is how I met Harry. He heard the whole story from his sister, and he started calling me. At first he just wanted to know if I had talked to Will, but then he started harassing me. Telling me it was my fault their family had fallen apart."

Sharon Raydor was not a single tear slipping artfully down her cheek kind of girl. She either sobbed, or she held herself together. And in this moment, saying these awful things, she was remarkably cold. Her posture was rigid, and she kept steady eye contact with the Chief. Andy couldn't see her hands but he knew they were clenched tightly together in her lap. The more turmoil she felt inside, the tighter she held herself.

"I don't think Will knew where I live, but Harry knew, maybe he wrote it down or something…"

"Excuse me, Captain. Are you saying you think Colonel Duncan is the man you shot last night?" the Chief leaned forward, waiting.

Sharon bit her lower lip. Looked Brenda in the eye. "Yes."

Andy jumped out of his chair and ran for the interview room. He couldn't stop himself. It was all his fault. Her fault. Their fault. That lunatic had come into her home, threatened her children, because of what they'd done. He knew now why she hadn't wanted to look at him while she told her story, but he couldn't bear to remain apart from her, not anymore. And besides, she had nothing more to tell. Her story was done. Surely, surely, the Chief would not begrudge them a moment. Not now.

He burst through the door of the interview room, and the Chief nearly jumped out of her chair. Sharon looked up him with shining eyes, desperation on her face for just a moment.

He tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't. There were no words. There was no apology that would cover something like this. There was no platitude he could offer.

"Lieutenant!" the Chief screeched, jumping to her feet, but he ignored her, his eyes locked on Sharon.

Ronnie stood up, and wiped furiously at her damp eyes for a moment.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

He went to her and wrapped his arms around her, and she collapsed against him, weeping into his neck.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: we're getting there, folks! There are only three chapters to go! Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reviewed. Keep 'em coming, reviews are my drug of choice. Next chapter should be up pretty quick. (Also do not fret; there will be more smut. I promise.) Much love xoxo

**Lieutenant L. Provenza**

Provenza stared at the screen, dumbstruck, mouth agape.

Flynn was hugging Sharon Raydor.

_Hugging._

_Raydor._

Provenza sputtered, but no words would come out.

Provenza had never seen Flynn hug _anyone_ before. Sure, Andy was always game to go out with him when he wanted to pick up a couple of broads, but he wasn't one for big displays of affection.

_Oh God,_ Provenza thought, _He's got it bad. _

**Assistant Chief Will Pope**

_For the love of God,_ Pope thought, shaking his head, _what the hell is wrong with these people? Can't anyone in this fucking building keep their pants zipped?_

Although, if he was honest with himself, he was just the tiniest bit jealous. Raydor was a good-looking woman.

But Flynn seemed to genuinely care about her. He had jumped right out of his chair and run straight to her.

The last thing Pope wanted was to spend the rest of his day talking about Flynn and Raydor, but he couldn't see a way out of it. Maybe if he bolted, right now, just got in his car and turned his phone off, he wouldn't have to deal with it.

**Captain Sharon Raydor**

_God forgive me,_ Sharon thought to herself as she cried in Andy's arms. It was all her fault. Her fault Jack was dead. Her fault Will Duncan was dead. Her fault Andy had been so distant these last few years.

_But he's here now._

And here was where she'd wanted him to be, for longer than she cared to admit.

**Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson**

Brenda stared at the scene in horror. She wasn't very good with emotional things. She felt as if she were intruding somehow, even though it was Flynn who had stormed into the middle of her interview.

An interview that had damned Sharon Raydor, Brenda realized with dismay. Raydor had lied, several times. And more than that, she knew who the dead man was. Her motives were suspect. Depending on what Brenda learned from Duncan's brother-in-law, and what the D.A. said, Raydor could be in serious trouble. Go-to-jail-for-the-rest-of-her-life kind of trouble.

_Holy shit._

**Emma Raydor Ravera**

Emma didn't know her way around the new police headquarters; her mother had insisted on keeping work and home separate. She never talked about her cases, she never brought files home, and she never, ever took the kids into the office.

But Emma had found that people were willing to help her, especially once she told them who her mother was. They seemed almost afraid of Sharon, and that both amused and concerned Emma. Her mother really wasn't a scary woman; sure, she tended towards sarcasm, and expected too much of people, but she wasn't _scary._ Sharon was kind. She loved her family, she loved her flowers, she smoked when she thought no one was looking. She was the one who kissed Emma's forehead when she was sad, who sang Emma to sleep at night when she was small, who held her close when she was scared and told her everything was going to be ok. There was nothing scary about that.

Chloe and Lily had chosen to stay at home with _abuela._ The police had finally finished going through their house, and the younger girls were more concerned about going home than they were about their mother. They trusted that everything was all right, that Sharon would be home soon. Emma wasn't so sure. She'd seen the note her mother had left on _abuela's _door: _Gone to work, need to talk to them about something, be back as soon as I can. I love all of you. _

Emma was worried. You couldn't just shoot someone and get away with it, even if you were a cop. That was Sharon's job, wasn't it? Making sure that everyone, even cops, were brought to justice? Emma didn't know who that man was, but she wasn't sure she believed her mother when she said she didn't know, either. Emma just wanted to see her, to hear her say that everything was ok.

And her little brother wanted to see Sharon, too. He was only four (almost five, he'd always correct her) and he didn't understand what had happened. He did understand not seeing his mother when they came back from breakfast, though, and he'd gotten scared. When Tommy got scared, he seemed to regress back to his two-year-old self. Full sentences were forgotten in favor of tearful cries of _want Mommy! Want Mommy!_ And Emma didn't blame him. She wanted her Mommy, too.

So she went back to the house with everyone else, changed her clothes, strapped Tommy into the backseat of her car, and headed for the police station.

Now that they were there, he clung to her hand, staring around with wide eyes. Tommy loved police officers. He loved passing the black-and-whites when they were driving somewhere. He cackled with delight when he heard sirens. But little boys are supposed to be enamored with policemen and firemen and soldiers. Little boys don't know what it really means to be one of those people. How much it can hurt.

Emma found her way to the Major Crimes department, growing more and more uneasy with each passing moment. As she walked into the big open room, she was disappointed; the room was both unremarkable, and empty. There were desks scattered around, and a white board in the front of the room. A board covered in notes, and photos. Photos of her house. Photos of the dead man.

Emma steered Tommy away from the board, not wanting him to see the pictures. There had to be someone around here she could talk to. Somewhere.

She was saved any further exploration by the sound of approaching feet from behind her. She tugged Tommy out of the way, and watched as a long line of men walked right past her, not speaking to each other, finding their desks and sitting down. They all seemed to be studying their shoes.

Emma sort of recognized them from the night before, when they'd shown up at her house. _Was that really only last night? _She thought sadly. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Which was probably for the best. She wanted as much distance between herself and the events of the last twenty-four hours as possible.

"Can I help you?" one of the detectives asked her, finally noticing she was there. She remembered him; he was nice. His name was… she fished around in her mind. It would come to her.

"I'm looking for my mom. Sharon Raydor," Emma said.

Sergeant Gabriel (_that was his name: Gabriel)_ stared at her.

"She's still here, isn't she?" Emma asked, suddenly nervous. Tommy answered her question before Gabriel could, however. He wrenched his hand free from Emma's and took off running.

Sharon was standing in the doorway, her eyes puffy, like she'd been crying. Emma noticed her Uncle Andy standing close by, and felt a surge of relief. She was glad her mother had a friend around her today.

"Mommy!" Emma's little brother squealed, and Sharon smiled as she lifted him into her arms and held him close.

Emma approached and before she could say anything, her mother had reached out with her free arm and tugged Emma close, kissing her cheek. Emma was content to stand there for a moment, needing just her mother's presence to let her know everything was going to be all right. Emma had almost forgotten she was pissed at Sharon. Almost.

" 'Scuse me, Captain," Emma heard that blonde Chief drawl nearby. Sharon let Emma go, and turned to face the woman with Tommy still in her arms.

"I hate to interrupt, but we still have some things to discuss."

Sharon nodded, though her shoulders sagged. Emma had never seen her mother looking so defeated. It scared her.

The Chief opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could the bald-headed Lieutenant appeared with an angry looking man in tow, and all hell broke loose.

"You fucking bitch!" the man screamed, lunging at Sharon. She clutched Tommy close and backed away, but she didn't need to worry. There wasn't enough time for Emma to let out a terrified cry before her Uncle Andy grabbed the man around the middle and slung him back against the wall, his head banging off the plaster as Andy pinned him there while he fumbled for his handcuffs.

"Don't move, asshole," Andy growled in the man's ear.

This was a bad idea, Emma realized. She never should have come.


	10. Chapter 10

**Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson**

Brenda chewed on the end of her pen, staring at a picture of Jack Ravera that someone had found somewhere. He was a handsome man, with thick dark hair, a strong jaw, and kind brown eyes. His face was scarred; Flynn explained that early on in his Army career a helicopter Ravera was piloting came under enemy fire. Though Jack had walked away from that crash, he had been injured. Brenda thought he wore the scars well.

It seemed strange to Brenda how this man, nearly two years dead, could be at the heart of everything that had happened. William Duncan had come to Sharon Raydor's house because of Jack. Sharon had lost her temper with Flynn because of Jack. Raydor blamed herself for everything because of Jack. Brenda suddenly wished she'd had the chance to meet him. To meet someone who could not only put up with Raydor, but love her.

Then again, Brenda knew a thing or two about reading people, and after watching Flynn and Raydor together, she had come to the unsettling conclusion that she was in fact good friends with one such man.

She sighed, rising out of her chair and reluctantly pulling on her jacket. William Duncan's brother-in-law Harry Bolding was sitting in an interview room, where he had been since Tao had brought him in. Since he'd tried to attack Raydor in the middle of Major Crimes. Brenda had been playing the events over and over in her mind for the last hour or two; watching Bolding enter; watching his face as he was overcome with rage; watching him lunge for Raydor as she tried to protect the little boy she held in her arms; watching Flynn leap to her rescue.

Brenda had sent Raydor and her children home. The investigation wasn't over. Brenda had no idea how much trouble Raydor was in, and wouldn't until she interviewed Bolding. She knew Raydor wasn't a flight risk, and trusted that the single uniform she'd sent with the Captain would be enough to keep an eye on her while Brenda sorted everything out.

Truth was, she'd been stalling. She had the nagging suspicion that this case still wasn't over. Raydor had cleaned every skeleton out of her closet, but Brenda wasn't satisfied. She'd been waiting for something; maybe fingerprints, or DNA, or a missing person's report, or another witness. Anything.

And nothing had come.

And so it was the Brenda wandered back to the interview room, where Flynn was waiting, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and a toothpick dangling between his lips.

"Chief-" he started, but Brenda just held up her hand.

"You can sit with me, Lieutenant, so long as you do not _speak."_ She told him. She was still a little miffed at him. Busting up her interview with Raydor, hugging _that_ woman. It was his fault Brenda felt so…sympathetic toward Raydor. It wasn't a feeling Brenda was used to where Raydor was concerned, and she worried she was beginning to lose whatever vestiges of impartiality she might have had.

Flynn just nodded, and opened the door for her.

Bolding was a big man, like Duncan. Broad shoulders, thick arms. His hair was close cut, and he had the makings of a beard on his cheeks. He'd been handcuffed the whole time Brenda had made him wait; she'd sort of forgotten about that.

"Lieutenant Flynn, I think we can uncuff Mr. Bolding here, don't you?" she said sweetly.

Flynn glared hard at her, but did as she asked.

Bolding rubbed his wrists as Flynn freed them, and watched Brenda warily.

"Well, Mr. Bolding, I am sorry to have kept you waiting, but there's paperwork involved when an officer is assaulted. Especially when that assault takes place in my murder room."

Bolding's face went pale. "Look, I feel bad about that. I shouldn't have gone after her when she was holding the kid. I just saw her, and I snapped. It's 'cause of that bitch I have to bury my brother."

Flynn tensed noticeably beside her when Bolding said the word _bitch_, but he said nothing. _Thank God,_ Brenda thought. She couldn't handle any more of Andy Flynn's acts of heroism.

"I thought Colonel Duncan was your brother-in-law?" Brenda asked, trying to keep Bolding talking. She needed to know as much about the victim, and his relationship with Raydor, as possible.

"He's my sister's husband, but he's like a brother to me. Me and Will, we go way back. He was a good man before all this Army bullshit. And if that little tramp hadn't-"

"I'm sorry, sir, but from my understanding, 'that little tramp' is the only reason your brother came home on his own two feet instead of in a body bag," Brenda said coolly, laying her hand on Flynn's arm to keep him from jumping out of the chair. She was beginning to suspect that having him in this interview was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

"Don't you see? We all would have been better off if Will would have died in that helicopter. Do you know how much it kills me to say that? But it's true. He wasn't the same guy when he came back. He started drinking all the time, smacking Amelia around. And if that Raydor bitch would've kept her legs closed, or her mouth shut, none of this would have happened!" Bolding had worked himself up; he was practically growling by the time he finished speaking.

Brenda, for her part, was staring at Flynn. _If that Raydor bitch would've kept her legs closed…I told him some things I shouldn't have told him… I tried to hate you… I trusted you most of all…_ The words bounced around her head and the realization that dawned as she connected the dots knocked the breath out of her.

Flynn had slept with Raydor.

Raydor had told her husband.

_Holy shit._

"You were at Captain Raydor's house on Friday morning, were you not, sir?" Brenda asked Bolding, tearing her eyes away from Flynn. She couldn't deal with any of the personal mess now. She had to finish the interview. And she had to make sure that Bolding never found out exactly how involved in all of this Flynn was.

"Yeah, I was. Will said he was gonna come to LA, said he was gonna kill Amelia. Said all kinds of things. And I was just so pissed, and that bitch wouldn't answer her phone-"

"That's Captain Raydor, asshole. Call her bitch one more time and see what happens," Flynn said darkly.

Brenda sighed. She knew he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut.

Bolding rolled his eyes, and then continued, "All right, _Captain Raydor_ wouldn't answer her phone so I drove over there. And then the…Captain slapped me! In front of people! Who the hell does that? And then this morning Amelia calls me in hysterics because Will shot himself in her driveway, in front of the kids and everything-"

Before the man could finish, before Brenda's brain could quite catch up with what she'd just heard, there was a hurried knock on the door, and Tao's bald pate appeared.

"Chief, I got something you're gonna want to hear."

"Just a second, Mr. Bolding," she said, rising and leaving the room with Flynn hot on her heels.

"Chief-" Flynn started, but she held up a hand to silence him.

"I know, Lieutenant. But I can only take one shocking piece of information at a time. Hold on. Now, Lieutenant Tao, what is it?"

Tao grinned. "Captain Raydor did not shoot William Duncan!" he exclaimed. When neither Brenda nor Flynn appeared appropriately shocked, he continued, "We got the prints back. Our victim is a psychiatric patient named Bradley Weaver. He's been arrested several times for breaking and entering, and the last time, he used a knife. He was released from a mental institution several months ago. Looks like Bradley went off his meds."

"All right, Lieutenant. Thank you. We'll be out in just a moment."

She signaled to Flynn, who followed her back into the interview room.

_What the hell?_ Brenda thought. This whole ordeal… She didn't know how she felt. She didn't know what she thought. She just wanted it to be over.

"Mr. Bolding," she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a photo of the victim from Raydor's house, "Is this your brother?" she asked, handing it to him.

Bolding took the picture, stared at it for a long moment, and then shook his head. "No. Never seen that guy before in my life. And like I just told you, Will killed himself in Amelia's driveway this morning."

Brenda sighed. "Alright, thank you, Mr. Bolding. You're free to go, Captain Raydor does not wish to press charges."

The man rose, and Flynn pointed his finger in Bolding's face. "But you listen to me," he said in a voice more like a growl than anything else, "You stay the hell away from Sharon Raydor. You hear me?"

"Hey don't worry about me," Bolding said, backing away. "The bitch may be the reason my brother's dead, but have you seen her? She's fucking miserable. That's enough for me."

Brenda motioned for one of the uniforms outside, and ordered him to take Bolding home. As they walked away, she leaned up against the wall, and Flynn joined her.

"So you slept with Captain Raydor?" Brenda asked, running a tired hand over her face.

She was amused at the terrified expression that crossed Flynn's face. "It's ok, Lieutenant, I'm assuming it was a long time ago."

Flynn didn't say anything. He was about as good at emotional situations as Brenda.

"Why don't you go tell Captain Raydor the good news?" she suggested.

"But Chief, the paperwork-"

"I'll handle the paperwork, Lieutenant. The Captain shot a deranged, violent psychopath who broke into her home and posed a serious threat to her life and her children. I'd call that a clean shot, wouldn't you?"

Flynn stared at her for a long moment before he turned and walked away.

Brenda continued leaning against the wall, letting the exhaustion wash over her. There was no way she was driving home after all this. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and called Fritz, grateful just to hear his voice on the other end of the line.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Smut ahead! We're almost done folks! Thanks for hanging in there with me. I love all of you.

**Lieutenant Andy Flynn**

Flynn drove around with no particular destination in mind, running over the same speech in his head, over and over again. He needed to figure out a way to tell her everything he'd learned in the last few hours. A way to tell her how sorry he was. For everything.

He still couldn't believe this whole nightmare was over. He kept expecting to get another phone call, saying that something else had gone wrong. But as he drove, his phone didn't ring, and his chaotic mind was overcome with a certain feeling of calm. He was going to talk to Sharon. Everything was going to be ok. Maybe, just maybe, they'd come out the other side of this better than they had been at the start. They'd said more to each other in the last two days than they had years, and he knew he'd been on her mind as much as she'd been on his. He wasn't going to fool himself; he knew there was no way they'd ever get back to the way things were before, but maybe, just maybe, they'd be ok.

He turned his car around, heading towards her house, feeling a certain hopefulness under the guilt he had, for however brief a time, pushed to the back of his mind.

**Captain Sharon Raydor**

"Mom, I can't find my book!" Chloe's voice echoed from the living room. SID had done their best, while going through her house, to keep everything in order, but it was still a bit of a messy. Tommy had just gone to sleep, however, and Sharon wondered just how many times she was going to have to tell the girls to keep it down while he slept before it finally registered.

She left the kitchen and found Chloe wandering around the living room in circles. She couldn't help but laugh; it had to be the most ineffectual method of searching she'd ever seen in her life.

"Did you look upstairs, honey?" Sharon asked, wondering if the book had ever been in the living room to start with.

Chloe looked at her like she'd just said the smartest thing she'd ever heard, and bolted for the stairs, thundering up them in the way only teenage girls can.

Alone, finally, Sharon flopped on the couch. It was after 9 o'clock, and she was exhausted. The uniformed officer who'd been sitting outside her house in his black-and-white had left about forty-five minutes earlier, and no one had come to replace him. Sharon assumed this was a good thing, but she hadn't heard from anyone in Major Crimes, and she wasn't about to call them. She'd had just about enough of Major Crimes for now.

Emma had immediately locked herself in her room upon coming home, laptop in hand, and Sharon hadn't heard from her since. Lily had taken a shower and gone to bed; she was the only one of Sharon's children who had never argued about bed times. When she was small, Lily used to put herself to sleep if Sharon wasn't moving fast enough. One way or the other, she was in bed by 8pm. She'd outgrown that habit to a certain extent, but after missing out on sleep last night, she had reverted to her childhood ways.

Chloe hadn't come back downstairs, so Sharon assumed she'd found her book. With all of the kids tucked away upstairs, she had the bottom floor of the house to herself.

She had no idea what to do.

She was too keyed up from the emotional turn the day had taken to sleep, but she was almost too tired to drag herself up off the couch.

Her thoughts wandered, meandering from the children upstairs to the damnable interview with the Deputy Chief, to Andy. Sharon wondered where he was, what he was doing. If he had understood what she meant when she said she'd told Jack "something I shouldn't have". She couldn't say it out loud, even now. Couldn't say the words affair, or cheat. She couldn't believe, even after all these years, that she had been one of those women. And that her husband was dead because of it.

For a long time she pretended it hadn't happened. She'd loved her husband, and she'd pretended that whatever she felt for Andy wasn't real, that that night was just a bad dream she had. But it all became too much, eventually. She found she couldn't hide from herself. Admitting it to Jack- that was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. It would have been worse, she realized, if she told him that it wasn't just sex, that she wasn't just lonely, that she didn't just need someone- she needed Andy. That would have broken Jack in half, and she knew it. She knew it because it had broken _her._ She'd been so devastated that night, when Andy told her he loved her, she'd driven to Maria's and cried for hours. Until she couldn't anymore, and then she'd driven home before the kids woke up so she could get them to school.

And Maria, to her credit, had neither told her son, nor hated Sharon. She had listened, she had cried, too, and she had told Sharon she loved her and she would stand by her. Sharon didn't know what she'd done to deserve that kind of love. She was fairly certain she was the last person on the planet who deserved to be loved.

She couldn't stand sitting there, alone with her thoughts, so she dragged herself to her feet, and wandered up the stairs. She decided a shower would be nice, would help to ease her hurt. At least she hoped it would.

She padded silently down the hall, and into her bedroom.

She stood still inside for a moment, taking it in.

The space hadn't changed much, since she'd lost Jack. It was months before she'd cleaned out his side of the closet. She'd kept a few shirts of his, little pieces of him that had long since lost his smell, but reminded her of him nonetheless. The pictures of them together remained on the dresser and bedside table. His pocket knife, his Bible, his books, his favorite baseball hat, all those things she kept in a box under the bed, along with all the pictures. She couldn't remove him from her life, nor did she want to. She wanted to find a way to live, with nothing but memories and regret. It wasn't easy.

She shed her clothes and headed for the shower, cursing herself for the path her thoughts were taking.

She let the hot water run over her head, washing away the dirt and the troubles of the day. She stood there much longer than she probably should have, but she couldn't bring herself to step out and climb into the bed that had felt so empty for so long.

Sharon climbed out of the shower, towel dried her hair, and pulled on her navy, silk housecoat and went to check in on Tommy. She was convinced she'd heard him yell, but when she opened his door, he was sleeping soundly. She was standing in the hallway, listening for some sound of movement from any of her children, when she heard the knock on the front door.

For a moment she cursed her attire, for the housecoat really was much too short, but she decided that answering the door was more important than her own modesty, and so padded down the stairs as quietly as she could.

When she opened the door, she didn't even have the energy to be surprised.

**Andy Flynn**

When Sharon answered the door in nothing but a housecoat and damp curls, Andy had to take a moment to remind himself that he was in fact, not dreaming. He thought, not for the first time, that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he'd do whatever it took to make her smile again. And this time, he'd see that smile.

**Sharon Raydor**

Sharon didn't invite him in; she knew she didn't have to. She just stepped to the side, and he stepped through the door. She turned and headed for the patio, and he followed her. She allowed herself a brief moment to feel embarrassed about her outfit; the hem of the housecoat flirted with the bottom of her ass, and she was naked underneath, but she trusted that Andy wouldn't leer.

She had lowered herself into one of the huge wooden chairs before she quite realized what she was doing, and he followed suit without a word. He held out his hand between the arms of their chairs, and she stared at it for an agonizing moment. She so badly wanted to take it, wanted to feel the comfort she knew he was offering, but she wasn't sure of what would happen if she did. She wasn't sure where this was going, and she was afraid.

She took his hand anyway.

How long they sat like that, holding hands in silence, she wasn't sure. She knew that things were changing, that the longer this moment lasted the more they were saying to each other. Apologies and sorrow were traded between them through that shared connection, but so was hope. Hope that things would get better. That tomorrow would be a day worth waking up to.

Andy spoke, finally. "It wasn't Will Duncan."

Sharon turned to him sharply, her heart in her throat. He continued before she could ask him for more information.

"The guy who broke into your house was a psych patient. But," he took a deep breath, looked straight at her, "Will Duncan killed himself this morning."

Sharon wished she could cry, but in that moment, she felt relieved. She felt vindicated for the shooting, and she felt relieved because she no longer had to worry about Will Duncan and his brother. She felt relieved because Will no longer had to carry the pain she'd given to him.

"The Chief's going to take care of the paperwork. Nothing's going to happen to you, Ronnie, I promise," Andy told her, still looking straight in her eyes. She found it comforting somehow, to look right at him as they spoke. She felt as if she'd been avoiding his gaze for the last eight years.

"It's over," he said quietly, and Sharon had to wonder what he meant. The case? The fear for the future? Or perhaps this conflict they'd been locked in for nearly a decade? Sharon hoped it was all three.

"I wanted to thank you, Andy," she said after a while.

"For what?" he asked.

"For not giving up on me," she told him. And she meant it. He had always been there, no matter what he wanted other people to think, and after everything she'd put him through, she was truly grateful.

He squeezed her hand, the slightest smile on his face.

"I could say the same to you," he said.

She felt the tears she had been unable to cry before prick her eyes. "Oh, Andy, you couldn't, I've been terrible to you and I know it-"

He leaned across the arm of his chair, and tugged her forward until she was close enough for him to gently kiss her.

"It doesn't matter," he said softly as he pulled away, settling back in his chair.

**Andy Flynn**

Andy couldn't believe he had just done that. What was he thinking? Kissing her on the patio, while her children slept upstairs. But she had looked so beautiful, and so sad, and he needed to tell her, needed to make her understand that he had never stopped loving her, never stopped wanting to be by her side, every day. It was the only thing he could think of to do. So he leaned back in his chair, still holding her hand, and waited to see how she would respond.

**Sharon Raydor**

Sharon shifted in her chair, hyper aware of the feeling of Andy's hand in hers. She was grateful to know he still felt as much for her as she felt for him. She was torn, however, between standing up, cutting this conversation short before it became something greater, and falling into his arms, the way she had already done once before.

She rose, not letting go of his hand, and smiled down at him. The lines of his face, the silver of his hair, the color of his eyes. She truly did love him, and had for some time. She could worry about the rest of it later, she decided. For now she would just love him.

She was standing in front of him still when he shifted into action, pulling her down onto his lap.

She fit perfectly there, she realized; there was just enough room for her knees on either side of his legs, and they were eye to eye. He hesitated long enough for her to wonder if perhaps he hadn't thought this through, if he was as lost as she felt. But then he was kissing her, and those thoughts vanished.

He tangled one of his hands in her hair, pulling her to him, while the other still clutched her fingers. She ground down against him almost without realizing it. All she knew was that she wanted this, wanted to feel him. She had felt that way before, and she remembered how perfect it had been, how easily they moved together, how he reached into every part of her. She knew it wouldn't take much, just a tug on the belt of her housecoat and she'd be naked on his lap.

He kissed his way down from her lips to her collarbone, and her mind flashed on that night all those years ago, and the hickey he'd left on her neck. She'd worn scarves for two weeks straight, trying to hide the mark from everyone, herself included.

"Andy," she breathed quietly, and he seemed to understand, continuing to travel downward without marking the pale skin of her neck.

He nosed past the silk that covered her and bit gently at the inside of her breast, and Sharon found she could not sit by passively anymore.

She reached down between them, fumbling as her vision was obscured by his head, and felt around for the clasp on his pants.

He did something then she was not expecting.

He took hold of both her hands, and lifted them so they were sitting on his shoulders. Before she could make so much as a sound of protest he looked up at her and said in his gruff voice, "Take it easy, will ya?" kissed her jaw, "take it slow," kissed behind her ear, "let me take care of you."

He slipped one of his hands down until the tips of his fingers were brushing lightly through soft curls, and Sharon moaned softly, conscious of the children sleeping upstairs. It had been so long, so long since Sharon had put herself, what she wanted, above the needs of others. She would claim this night, just this once, for herself. She felt she deserved that much.

She threaded her fingers through his hair as one of his own found its way inside her, pushing gently in and out, not forcing her to be or do anything she didn't want to. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and slanting her hips as he added another finger. He just looked up at her in wonder, watching her face as he began to rub her clit with his thumb, fingers gathering momentum as they thrust into her. She felt herself begin to shake, and needed nothing so much as Andy underneath her, holding her up as she found her way to the release she'd denied herself for so long. She was letting go of everything tonight, all the guilt and pain. At least, she was letting go of as much of it as she could.

He increased the force behind his thrusts until she was biting her lip to keep from crying out, and finally she came against him, slamming her hips down on his hand, shuddering her release as her head flopped forward to rest on his shoulder. He kept one of his hands inside her, gently moving with the pulsing of her muscles, the other running soothingly over her hair as he whispered into her ear, "I love you, Ronnie. I've always loved you. I will always love you. I'm right here."

She grasped his face in her hands, tilting his head up so she could kiss him, her lips planting on his, her tongue pushing past his lips until his own was pushing back, tasting her.

She reached down between them again, and this time he didn't stop her. She never took her lips from his, didn't look down as she freed him from his trousers. He let out a soft groan when he felt her fingers on him, and she pulled away from his lips, rising up on her knees, looking down at him, hoping that her face told him everything her words could not. She couldn't say it out loud, not yet. He understood, however, and reached up to cup her face with a tender hand as she positioned him at her entrance, and slowly sank down onto him.

He kissed her to keep her quiet, their moans passing back and forth through their lips as she rocked down on him. He rested his hands on her thighs, letting her guide their movements as she rose up and down, slowly sliding him in and out of her. She felt the tension rising in him, felt him fighting to keep control of himself, fighting to go slow. She reached down and took his hands in her own.

"I'm here, Andy," she whispered in his ear as she broke from their kiss. "I'm right here," she said again, echoing his earlier sentiment.

He thrust up into her and she could not stop the brief cry that escaped her, but she didn't have the time to think about it because he was pulsing inside her, she was holding his hands, she could feel him everywhere and she never wanted it to end. She felt him growing more erratic in his thrusts and just as she'd come to terms with the fact that she wasn't going to come again tonight he took their joined hands and brought them down to her straining clit, and together they brought her up and over the edge, her lips finding his to seal in the sounds as they came together.

After what felt like hours but may have only been moments, he lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her into the house, and they fell into the bed in the guest room together, tangled up and happy.

It was the first time Sharon slept all the way through the night since Jack died.


	12. Epilogue

_If you're reading this  
>There's gonna come a day<br>When you'll move on  
>And find someone else<br>And that's ok  
>Just remember this<br>I'm in a better place  
>Where soldiers live in peace<br>And angels sing Amazing Grace  
>-"If You're Reading This", Tim McGraw<em>

**Lieutenant Andy Flynn**

It had been 15 years since Andy had bought a six-pack of beer, but he knew that this one time, an exception could be made. It wasn't for him, anyway.

He made the drive with the radio off and the windows rolled up, lost in his own thoughts. He knew what he needed to say, he just wanted to make sure that he said it the right way. Which was a foolish concern, he knew, but this was important.

He hadn't told Sharon where he was going. He told her he wouldn't be home in time for dinner. It seemed strange, somehow, that in the last few months, he'd come to think of her home as his, in a way. He knew better, knew it wasn't his to claim, but being there with her, and the kids, it felt right. It felt peaceful.

He pulled into the graveyard, and got out, carrying the beer in one hand and some flowers in the other. He got more than a few strange looks from the others gathered there that day, but he didn't take the time to worry about what they thought. This was not about them.

He realized as he began to wander the meandering paths that he had no idea where, exactly, he was going. He just walked up one strip of concrete and down the other until he finally found the one he was looking for.

_Juan "Jack" Ravera  
>1958-2008<br>Beloved father, husband, and soldier  
>Who gave his all for those he loved<br>May he rest in peace_

Andy laid down the flowers in front of the tombstone, and set the beer on top of it.

"Jack," he said quietly, feeling just a little bit strange about talking to a slab of stone. He had to do it, though. There were things he never got to say to the man in life, and he could not deny them in death.

"I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. You were more than good to me. You saved my life, even if you don't know it. And I don't want you to think I took her away from you. She's yours, and she always will be. I just want you to know that I love her, I really love her, and I'm going to do everything I can to take care of her. And the kids, too. Emma's decided to go away to school, like she wanted. Chloe and Lily are happy, and they remind me more of you everyday. And I promise, Jack, I promise Tommy will know who his father is. He will know what you meant to all of us. He will know what you did for us, and for him. I don't want to take them away from you. But someone needs to be there for them. They were hurting when you left, and they're still hurting now, but I'm trying to be what they need."

He fell silent, staring at the stone, wishing not for the first time that he could talk to the man himself. There was still a part of him that felt he deserved a good beating from Jack Ravera, but he knew he would never get it.

"I hope you can forgive me. I hope you can forgive her. She never stopped thinking of you. She hated herself for what happened. Sometimes I think she still does."

He stopped again. It was hard to talk about Sharon, even to a man who'd been dead for three years now.

"Anyway, I'm sorry for what I did to you, and I'm sorry you never got to beat the shit out of me. I brought you some beer. Your favorite. If anyone deserves a good drink, it's you."

He couldn't think of anything more to say, but he lingered there a while. It wasn't redemption he needed, exactly, but confession. He needed to tell the truth.

Finally he reached out, and touched the stone for a long moment, before he turned and walked back to his car. Sharon would be waiting, and he'd promised to read Tommy a story before bed tonight.


End file.
